


thought we built a dynasty

by choncena



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alive Hale Family, Alpha Derek, Alternate Hale Fire, Angst with a Happy Ending, BAMF Lydia Martin, BAMF Stiles, Danny Mahealani is Part of the Pack, F/M, Fluff and Humor, Full Shift Werewolves, Good Peter Hale, Hale Family Feels, Lydia Martin & Stiles Stilinski Friendship, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Multi, Not Really Character Death, Pack Bonding, Pack Dynamics, Pack Family, Pack Feels, Pre-Season/Series 01, Slow Build, Time Travel Fix-It, constant doctor who references, everything after 3b doesn't follow general timelines, i had to include the baby pack since i adore them and 6b gave me so much feels, lydia and stiles go back to their 10 year old selves with their 18/19 year old memories, slow updates oops, some OCs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-03
Updated: 2017-12-29
Packaged: 2018-05-30 17:32:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 9
Words: 35,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6433741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/choncena/pseuds/choncena
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Thought we built a dynasty that heaven couldn't shake</i>
  <br/>
  <i>Thought we built a dynasty like nothing ever made</i>
  <br/>
  <i>Thought we built a dynasty forever couldn't break up</i>
</p><p>"So, uh, do you think the Hales will mind that we took over their house?"<br/>"We went back in time to save them. I think that's the least of their concerns."</p><p>(or the AU in which Stiles and Lydia went back in time to prevent losing their pack and managed to fix everything in between)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The Strength of the Wolf](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1345657) by [tolieawake](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tolieawake/pseuds/tolieawake). 



> for update statuses and if you want to ask questions (or hints wink wink) follow my update twitter: @_choncena

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my first sterek fic so I hope you enjoy it, even as up to par as it is.  
> (small chapter spoiler alert) I changed the time of the Hale fire for the sake of the story.

“Stiles, we have to go.”

Lydia’s grasping at him, pulling him away from the fires and the blood, his feet dragging in the mud as he struggles not to look back.

The trees seem blurry in his vision as he tries to maneuver his way with Lydia grappling at his wrist, her once shiny and silky strawberry blonde hair now covered in ashes and dirt, tangled and frizzy.

The roars and pained howls ring in his ears, his throat swallowing any protests he had with Lydia pulling him, his words disappearing into the darkness as he hears the last roar, the most familiar to him, echo through the forest before turning silent.

“Stiles, _please_ , we have to _go_ ,” Lydia sobbed, as Stiles’s feet dug itself into the dirt, his eyes turning behind him as he could no longer see fast-moving bodies, but instead the fire engulfing the trees, one by one.

_Right back to where everything started, huh, Derek?_

“Stiles!”

“Lydia, we have to save th-”

“They're gone, Stiles! They're _gone! All of them! So please!_ We _need_ to go! We can't stay here!”

Stiles's heart dropped down to his stomach as he took in Lydia's words. He knew they were gone- he was just hoping that there would at least be some survivors, so he called out to them, to his pack, and as expected, he was only met with the crackling of wood and the deafening silence of what once was his- _theirs._

“We need to run,” Stiles mumbled as the flames swam closer, turning back around and holding onto Lydia's sweaty hand as he zigzagged through the foliage, trying to find his way to open space, where he and Lydia can finally breathe in fresh air and just take in what had just happened.

How it turned out to be  just him and Lydia in the end- the most _human_ out of all of them- confused, and angered Stiles.

He wasn't anything _near_ supernatural; skinny, hyperactive, _defenseless_ Stiles, who only had a small spark of magic, as Deaton had told him, and Lydia; beautiful, intelligent, and loving Lydia, who was second in command and a banshee, a siren of sorts, but still defenseless to certain supernatural beings and occurrences. They had nothing. And yet, they were the only ones who stood amongst the fallen.

They stumbled across the line that separated the woods and the rest of civilization, breaking the line of mountain ash that they had ordered Deaton and Sheriff Stilinski to put around the forest to prevent any civilians from getting hurt.

They crawled their way further away from the heat, clutching each other as Lydia screamed towards the forest, her voice echoing throughout town, her sobs turning into wails as Stiles kept a tight grip on her from behind, burying his head and letting his tears fall in Lydia's hair, his body shaking with tremors.

“Lydia, enforcements are coming, we need to go,” Stiles choked, his voice cracking.

“Why can't we just stay? Why couldn't _they_ stay?” Lydia spits the last statement out as if it was toxic, but then she curls herself further in Stiles’s embrace, whimpering.

“We need to leave,” he whispers one more time, bringing him up with him as they run to where they left their cars before everything went awry.

The only remaining, or at least still useful, vehicle there was the sleek, black Camaro all of them had always teased their alpha about.

It wasn't funny anymore.

Stiles gulped down his tears as his heart twisted, Lydia staring at her feet as she shuffled her way over to the passenger side, leaning over to the driver’s side and flipping the visor, leaning back over with the keys in her palm.

Stiles slammed the door behind him as he took a deep breath inhaling the familiar musty smell. His insides lurched as he grabbed the keys from Lydia and started the ignition, hearing the car roar to life, much like its previous owner.

Werewolf or not, his nose ached and his eyes watered at the interior scent. It was the scent of _pack. Their pack._

.0o0o0.

The Camaro skidded to a halt in front of the loft, the duo taking some time in silence before they got out and took the elevator.

Entering the loft never felt so empty before.

The space still held signs that someone had lived there, made a life there, only for the belongings to never be touched again.

The loft echoed with white noise as Lydia and Stiles took a step across the threshold, fingers dancing across the furniture and walls, Lydia stopping in front of the various books scattered across what was dubbed the living room, taking a seat on the leather L-shaped couch Stiles remembered he had forced his alpha to get just a year prior.

He was still choking on his tears, lifting his arm to wipe at his eyes, his flannel sleeve covered in soot and dirt.

Lydia took extra precautions in lifting the books, as if they would disappear, too,  just like the others had, and flipped each page with such fragility, teary eyes scanning the pages, her lower lip trembling.

While Lydia took to the collection of books left by their alpha, Stiles wandered around the upstairs of the loft. The bedrooms.

The upstairs consisted of one long, slender hallway with bedrooms left and right. He ran his hands over each door, but he only planned to go in one.

Why he decided to go into his alpha’s room was a complete mystery.

The door creaked as he pushed it open, his nose stinging from the strong scent that he secretly took pleasure in.

He took a seat at the edge of the king-sized mattress that was previously settled on the lower level before the pack had started visiting early and jumping on it while Derek was still asleep.

His feet dangled off the edge as he lied down, back hitting the mattress on with a plop, hands grasping at the bedsheets. It had barely been an hour since and his tear-tank was already empty.His throat was rough from choking back on his urge to scream profanities at the evil that had taken his friends six feet under, and he knew Lydia probably didn't have the best vocal cords as of currently as she quietly heaved in her sobs on the ride to the loft. He turned his head to sniff at the sheets, closing his eyes as he dreamed of the faces of his friends, his family, letting the scent take over him, before he heard Lydia's voice ring from downstairs as if in a panic.

“Stiles!”

He tripped over his own feet standing up from the bed, nearly hitting the doorframe on his way out.

He didn't know what to expect, but he definitely did not expect Lydia to be crumpled on the floor with her head on her knees with an open book lying in front of her.

Lydia heard his footfalls, and lifted her head up, standing up from the ground and grabbing the book as she went.

“He knew. Derek _knew,”_ her lip trembled, hugging the book to her chest as Stiles drew closer, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion.

“What do you mean he ‘knew’?”

.0o0o0.

Stiles woke up in a gasp, eyes blinking rapidly as the off-white paint of a ceiling caught his attention, a familiar feeling washing over him, but he couldn’t place it. He sat up immediately, flailing his arms as he falls off whatever furniture piece he was, he guesses, sleeping on and expects to land on a hard surface.

He lands on what he thinks is a human body instead, feeling the vibrations of a groan at his back.

“Stiles?” the body beneath him mutters, Stiles freezing in panic. He’s heard the voice since he was five and the last he heard it was when he was 18. His age currently. Mentally.

“S-Scott?” Stiles stuttered, fixing himself to uncover the face of his best friend. He sat straight, as he stared at his supposed-to-be-dead best friend, but Scott was _alive._ And in his 10 year old form.

“What are you doing?” Scott yawns sleepily, falling back down and snuggling his blankets closer. Stiles opens and closes his mouth like a fish, stumbling over his words as he wrapped his mind around what is happening.

“I, uh, need to use the toilet,” Stiles lied, but Scott was already fast asleep again. Stiles ran around the living room trying to get his eyes used to the dark as he tried to recognize whose house he was at, when he saw the familiar framed picture of him and Scott from fourth grade.

He ran down the hall to the McCall’s guest bathroom and stared at himself in the mirror, prodding at his face. He had the memories and pain of his 18 year old self in his ten year old body. He still had his baby face but aside from his looks, he still felt the pain of losing his friends, but at this time- 2005 if he remembered correctly- his pack bonds were weak, some of them missing.

He scouted the house for a phone, finding the device on the kitchen counter. He dials the number he remembers Lydia gave him before their departure, tapping his feet and biting at his nails as the line rings.

“Stiles?!” Lydia’s voice echoes through the line. Stiles almost wants to laugh at how high her voice is, used to her older voice.

“I’ve never been relieved to hear your nine year old voice say my name before,” he chuckles softly, looking behind him to see if Scott can hear him.

“We did it,” Lydia whispers, a hint of fear at the edge of her voice.

“We went back almost a decade.”

Stiles is running his small hand down his face, opening the refrigerator. Time travelling seemed to cause his hunger to rise, as he grabbed a tub of mint ice cream.

“What day did we travel back to?” Lydia asks, Stiles hearing some crumpling of paper in the background.

Stiles stares at the clock as its hands tick to midnight.

“January 25,” he hears Lydia’s voice resurface.

Stiles’ eyebrows rise, a habit his 18 year old self definitely got from Derek, who he still is yet to meet in this time, tongue clicking against the roof of his mouth as he tries to figure out why it was this day he and Lydia were thrown back.

“Is there anything that happens today?” He asks, filing his mind for answers.

“Well, okay, what happened when we were in, what, fourth grade?” Lydia hums.

“You mean what happens this year?”

“Shut up. Time travel messes with my tenses.”

A beat of silence pass through them as they scan their memories for dates and events from their former past, their current present.

The clock turns a minute past midnight before Stiles stands pinpoint straight before he trips running to the windows, eyes heading to the sky as the full moon shines brightly.

“Lydia-” Stiles starts as he runs around looking for shoes, his ears picking up on Lydia’s sudden panic through the phone.

“Stiles, what are you-”

“The fire, Lydia, _the Hale fire_.”

Stiles hangs up in a rush, throwing open the door and running into the McCall’s driveway, spotting the blue bike he remembers Scott used to get to school. He grabs it, navigating the road he memorizes taking towards the preserve.

.0o0o0.

He throws the bike aside as he meets Lydia at the entrance of the preserve, seeing her small nine year old figure run up to him, her own bike in tow.

“Seeing you as a fourth grader again kind of scares me,” Stiles admits as his eyes wander up and down Lydia’s figure in curiosity.

“Stiles, now is definitely not the time for that. Do you remember what the police report said about what time the Hale fire started?” Lydia questions as her and Stiles maneuver their way through the trees as a weird sense of déjà vu washes over them and Lydia tries to hide her trembling hands as she skims her fingers along the trees as they pass them.

"Around one in the morning-"

They can hear the screams and the sudden temperature rise and they know they’re near. The duo send each other a look of wide eyes and panic before taking off into a sprint as they’re determined to save the Hale family.

Stiles spots the hunters laughing a few meters away from the fire and he feels a sudden burst of tingling lightning thrumming beneath his skin. He stops running and Lydia stares at him in alarm before Stiles turns his head towards her and points her to the burning house.

“You save them, I’ll deal with the hunters. I’ll catch up with you!” He commands, Lydia nodding in urgency, wrapping her mouth and nose with her scarf before running into the house.

Stiles sneaks toward the hunters, trying to channel his spark using his pack bonds, but they’re weak. “Come on, come on,” he whispers to himself through gritted teeth.

He closes his eyes tightly and wishes for a miracle, feeling the thrum of magic in his skin but he can’t seem to release it externally.

“Stiles!”

His eyes open when he hears Lydia’s scream and he bites his lip until he draws blood until he makes a decision and makes his way to the Hale house where he spots Lydia with the rest of the Hale family in the doorway, Lydia, now covered in sweat and soot, with 11 Hale family members behind her. He can spot Derek and Cora- and is that Laura?

“Mountain ash barrier!” Lydia shouts, and it scares to Stiles to think that they’re mentally 18 but they’re _ten_ and trying to save a family of werewolves from an arson fire.

Stiles runs around the front porch, the members of the Hale family staring confused and frightened at him as he struggles to spot the line of mountain ash imbedded deep into the structure.

“Lydia! It’s burnt into the foundation!” Stiles yells in a panic, eyes meeting the redhead’s.

“Use your spark!”

Stiles looks to and from the fear-filled looks between the Hale’s and suddenly, Stiles can feel a sudden rush of warmth run through his head to his toes. He nods at Lydia as he tries to tap into his spark, using his weak but present pack bond as an anchor, lifting his hand and feeling the invisible barrier that was preventing the werewolves’ escape.

He can feel a small “pop” before he’s stumbling into Lydia, eyes widening in shock.

“You need to get out of here,” Stiles directs his words to the Hales, all of them running into fresh, open space, coughing the fumes and smoke out of their lungs as they collapse onto their front yard.

“Peter!” Stiles hear one of the Hale women call out, Lydia running to her to prevent her from going back into the still burning house.

With no command, Stiles goes into the house, spotting Peter immediately, lodged under a large piece of wood unconscious.

He reaches out to lift the piece of wood, ignoring the pain as the flames continue to lick against his skin, using the small strength he has to dislodge Peter from under the heavy material, managing to pull him out completely from the burning wood.

The same tingling lightning sensations hums against his fingertips and he’s suddenly created a pathway through the fire as he drags Peter’s limp body away from the burning building. Lydia meets him at a good distance from the house, blocking out the distant screams and guttural animal sounds he guesses are the werewolves ripping the hunters apart, as he tries to concentrate on the unconscious body beneath him, Lydia checking on his pulse and breathing, while Stiles tries to regain his energy and breath.

Stiles recognizes the burns covering the majority of Peter’s body and face and he knows he’s going comatose once first responders come to the scene.

“Did you call 911?” Stiles asks Lydia, the sounds of sirens and vehicles answering his question.

“Called the minute you hung up,” Lydia clarifies, standing up to let the nurses carry Peter onto the stretcher.

Stiles scans the scene, seeing Mrs. Hale, _Talia,_ and Mr. Hale emerge from the forest, directly heading for their family. His eyes stumble upon 16 year old Derek, who looks ashamed as a huntress, _Kate Argent_ , is taken into custody.

“Hey, Stiles, are you okay?” Lydia looks at him worriedly, taking his hand in her hands. He starts to feel dizzy, feet feeling weak to hold his body up, vision blurring around the edges.

“Catch me,” he mumbles, before he slips into unconsciousness.

.0o0o0.

He wakes up the second time since his journey back in time, but this time, he wakes up to the stench of sterility and his nose hurts at the strong smell of disinfectant. The beeping at his bedside and the sudden occupation of a needle in his arm confirms his suspicions as to where he was.

His room is void of people so he takes this chance to seek out Lydia and ask him what happened. He removes the needle from his arm, hissing at the pain, and sits up, reaching over to grab his clothes from the chair a few feet away from him.

Stiles peeks his head out the door and looks both ways before heading down the hallway, strolling casually, before he hears his name be called, turning around to only crash against Lydia, her small arms wrapping around him tightly.

“Thank god you’re okay! I didn’t wanna lose another pack member,” she mutters.

“Lyds, we went back in time. All of us are still alive,” Stiles answers in confusion.

“Yeah, but they’re not _our_ pack yet. We’re not even friends yet.”

Stiles makes an “oh” face before he’s, yet again, dragged by Lydia down hallway by hallway.

“I was eavesdropping on the Hales and the doctors and Peter’s gone catatonic from head trauma, just like last time,” Lydia explains as they peek through the window of where Peter was situated, the whole Hale family surrounding his bedside, a woman and a girl around Stiles and Lydia’s age hugging his still body.

“We saved the Hales, Stiles. And now we have to save everyone else.”

Stiles stared on through the window, feeling his heart twist, and he grabs Lydia’s hand, closing his eyes to tug at his pack bonds, yet to be completed.

“Yeah. I guess that’s why we’re here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next chapter is about meeting the Hale family.


	2. Chapter 2

“Stiles.”

Stiles jumped at the voice, hitting his head against Lydia's chin in surprise as he turns towards his father. His dad was staring down at him confusedly, his arms crossed against his chest. Lydia just looked like she was struggling not to laugh in amusement.

“Hi, dad,” Stiles trailed off, fiddling with his fingers and rocking on his heels. Sheriff Stilinski held a stern look as he pointed over to a more open space away from the room Peter was in, and away from Lydia who just stared at her nails with more curiosity than anything else. Stiles’ eyes flew around the room, avoiding the hard gaze of his father.

“Why exactly were you stalking the Hales with- was that Lydia Martin?” Stiles’ dad whispered the last part, looking back at Lydia, who spotted him and waved her fingers as she swayed the skirt of her dress around. Stiles waved back at her excitedly, before dropping his smile when his dad’s eyebrows furrowed down at him.

“What the Hales are going through aren’t exactly your business, Stiles.”

“Yeah, I know-”

“And for pete’s sake what the _hell_ were you doing at the Hales in the first place?”

Stiles racked his head for an explanation, biting the inside of his cheek to the point where he was sure he was drawing blood. He knew that he wouldn’t really have a valid reason as to why he was on the Hales’ private property so the best he could think of was telling his dad he and Lydia were bored that night and decided that a walk through the preserve would be nice and head-clearing (pushing aside the fact that both of them lived a good two and half miles away from Hale property). As expected, the Sheriff didn’t believe him, staring him down for a good minute before sighing and letting it go, pinching the bridge of his nose as he shook his head.

“You know I don’t believe you, but you saved a whole family, so I won’t be mad at you as much-”

“Rea-” Stiles started, a smile forming.

“ _But,”_ his dad cut him off, “You’re going to have an earlier curfew for a month. You can’t stay over at Scott’s, or wherever else you go to, no later than 7 P.M. sharp, you got that?”

Stiles emitted a whining noise from the back of his throat but he nodded anyways, knowing earlier was better than not at all.

“Stiles, I have to get home. Mom’s probably worried right now.”

Stiles and his dad turned towards the redhead, Stiles smiling at her before pulling her in for a hug, which she gladly reciprocated, squeezing tightly before heading out of the hospital doors and getting on her bike. Stiles looked back up at his dad, and almost wanted to laugh at the comical face his dad pulled after the moment of intimacy that was just shared between the two ten year olds.

John Stilinski was never one to disappoint.

“Since when were you friends with Lydia Martin?” He asked slowly. Stiles had forgotten, in the midst of all that just went down, that he and Lydia don’t officially become acquainted with each other until the fall of sophomore year, just after Scott got bitten- or gets bit.

“Uh, we started talking recently so now we’re friends,” Stiles said, which was only half a lie.

“Son, you’ve been pining over her since last year and you _just_ made a move?”

Stiles gasped in offense, his lips smacking together as he tried to string words together in response.

“It’s been a year, dad! And plus, I’m not that interested in her anymore. We’re better off as friends.”

John blinked at him.

“You were gushing over how beautiful her hair was yesterday.”

“...I did?”

All Stiles got in response was a questionable eyebrow raise before a man Stiles must think was Mr. Hale (he looked just like Derek and he hopes Derek would age that nicely 30 years down the road) came up to the Sheriff, smiling at Stiles before turning back.

“Sheriff, can we talk?”

John nods, panning his attention back to Stiles as Mr. Hale waits down the hall just outside Peter’s room.  John kneels down to Stiles’ height, resting his hand on his son’s shoulder and squeezing it.

“I can ask Melissa to take you home. I still have questions to ask the Hales so we can file a case. I won’t get home until late tonight so you can stay over at Scott’s,” his dad informs him.

Stiles doesn’t care. He needs to talk to Scott anyway.

“You think you’ll be okay?”

“More than okay.”

Stiles gives him a more than pleased, toothy grin, reaching up to move his hair out of his face. He still has long hair, remembering he gets his buzzcut the start of sophomore year. The Sheriff shakes his head and chuckles, giving Stiles a kiss on the forehead before standing back up.

“You’re too mature for your age. Why can’t you be like normal 10 year olds and pretend to be cool?”

Stiles shrugs, his eyes travelling back to Mr. Hale, who was now talking to teary-eyed woman, whom he figures might be Peter’s wife.

“What’s the joy in that?” Stiles retorts, jumping to sit on the plastic chairs the hospital had put in the lobby, swinging his feet. He almost wants to growl at his feet because he has the thinking and logicality of his future self and he does _not_ like that his physical appearance was not cooperating.

At least it was easier for him to lie down on all the chairs and not have a crick in his neck.

John was already down the hallway speaking to Mr. Hale when someone takes a seat next to Stiles, causing him to jump as he whips his head around to a girl, with dark blonde hair and deep hazel eyes.

Celeste Hale was beautiful.

She was a year older than Stiles, being in the fifth grade, and she was Peter’s only child. She was tall, even for her age, and much like Stiles, had an eye for research and often loved to babble. She was quite popular in primary school, as Stiles remembered previously, that many students from his elementary had gone through a mourning stage and many students, older and younger, had cried for the Hales. All of the Hale children were popular amongst the student body.

Stiles hadn’t gotten it then, since he had never known much about the Hales until after Peter’s coma and Scott’s unfortunate night, but he understood now.

Just by looking and observing Celeste, he could clearly see why the Hales were such a respected family in the small town, and with werewolf connections, the state.

“You’re spark, aren’t you?” The girl asks, wringing her hands together on her lap, turning her full body towards Stiles.

Stiles does nothing but furrow his eyebrows at her.

He _really_ needs to stop picking up habits a la Derek.

“You have a magical spark,” she whispers excitedly, “You broke through that line of mountain ash and _saved_ us and I’m kinda glad you did because I’ve been dying to see this movie but if I died I wouldn’t have been able to see it but aside from that- somehow you knew that the dust was burned into the foundation and you saved my dad and managed to come out unscathed and you broke the barrier and Deaton says that mountain ash barriers that can also block humans is really dangerous and can’t be broken with just normal human force but your friend got in but she couldn’t break the barrier and I mean I guess it kinda prevents me even if I’m normal human, like no woof woof or any of that, but I guess it was charmed because I have wolf blood in me so- wait, so does that mean the line was blood-magically charmed to not let any of us out?”

The older girl took a deep breath to calm her racing heart, trying to absorb air back into her lungs after word vomiting. She didn’t even know that Stiles even knew about werewolves yet.

Stiles smiled, already warming up to her.

“Oh, I forgot! I’m Celeste.”

“Stiles.”

She holds her hand out, Stiles shaking it happily, before his hands go back to resting at his sides gripping the chair and hers go back to waving around to demonstrate her statements.

“So, are you?” She finishes with large, curious eyes blinking at him.

“Am I what?”

“Are you spark?”

“Is that even proper grammar?”

“There’s a term Deaton told momma and Aunty Tali and Uncle Jee and I was in the room with Dee, Cory, Jay-jay, Lo, and Benji but I wasn’t paying attention so all I got was something about a ‘spark’,” she holds her fingers up to make air quotations, “and he kinda described what you did back there so are you?”

There was wonder swimming behind Celeste’s irises. She was fidgety and wanted answers so who was Stiles to refuse her? He nodded, keeping his gaze on the tile flooring beneath his feet as a short silence ensued.

He was then engulfed in a tight embrace from the older girl, his cheek pressed against her right shoulder. She was nuzzling head with her cheek, hearing a low purring of some sort vibrating from the back of her throat.

“Les, leave the poor boy alone.”

Stiles looked up from his tight spot in the girl’s arms to whom he figured was her mother. Celeste let go of Stiles at this, only to bring her arm up to ruffle his fluffy hair, resting her hand at the edge where his neck met his shoulder.

Celeste Hale was a spitting image of her mother. Anna Hale had the same dirty blonde hair but her eyes were a burnt amber instead of Celeste’s deep hazel, but Stiles figured that was from Peter. She stood with confidence and comfort, her kindness digging through everyone she met and how her and Peter got together was beyond Stiles’ comprehension. He had yet to imagine Peter as a kind, loving man with emotions and love for his family.

She was on the shorter side of the spectrum, the rest of the Hales towering over her, but she was fierce. She was also one of the Hale humans but she wasn’t completely useless. A resigned hunter and former FBI agent, Anna knew her way around armory. Marrying into a werewolf pack had her using her weaponry knowledge and access to government files to track down potential threats around their territory and keep tabs on hunters.

Stiles twisted in his seat, smiling warmly at Anna, noting the weariness painting the hollows of her eyes and cheeks. Stiles felt sympathy pit at the bottom of his stomach like an anchor, his gut twisting at how much he just realized Derek and Peter had lost previously. He knew that with the strain put on the whole family with Peter’s sudden comatose state and the looming dread of a court case, the Hales weren’t exactly up to par with their emotional states, dragging into their physical states.

Judging by the darkness seeping through the hospital windows and the clock on the wall behind Anna’s head, Stiles figured it had been almost 24 hours since the Hale fire and he had been only awake and on his feet for a solid hour or so.

“I’m sorry for my daughter being so invasive,” Anna chuckled tiredly, sending a pointed look towards her daughter who only shrugged in response before looking to the younger boy, her features softening. “Thank you. For saving us.”

Stiles didn’t know how to respond so he resorted to looking at his small feet, swinging them back and forth.

“You’re welcome.”

He didn’t say much, and Anna got that, settling herself in the seat next to Stiles, her legs turned towards him.

“Come talk to the rest of the family. I bet that they have something to say to the boy that had prevented our possible demise.”

Stiles’ head shot up, palms starting to gather sweat as he shook his head in a panic. How could he possibly know how to deal with the Hales- prestigious, sophisticated, traditional, _beautiful_ Hales- because a) he’s from an older, alternate timeline, b) they don’t know that he knows about their lycanthropic background, even before wonderfully curious Celeste had rambled on, c) he may or may not have (had?) the hots for the Hale alpha’s middle child, and d) they’re _supposed to be dead._

He was already thinking of disastrous icebreakers before a minute has even passed after Anna’s statement. She looked hopeful, and Stiles couldn’t just deny her.

He nodded bashfully, standing up with Celeste at his side, chattering about who knows what, while Anna walked a good two steps in front of them, leading them down Peter’s hallway. Anna and Celeste went in first, leaving Stiles to lean against the parallel wall, scuffing his shoe against the tile grout. He heard muffled voices from behind the door, watching shadows move in front of and away again from the door window.

It took a minute again before Celeste popped her little head back out and bobbed her head dangerously fast, seeming as if it would roll off any second now, that he could come in. Stiles took his time, one foot in front of the other until his body was fully in the room and the door was shut behind him. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other as he tried to bring his eyes up to look at the family that he just saved.

“Hi, Stiles,” Mrs. Hale says first, walking over to the small boy and putting her hand on his cheek, her pinky finger under his chin to lift his head up to meet her eyes. He stood shock-still when his oak-colored eyes met Mrs. Hale’s.

Her chestnut eyes were soft as they looked upon Stiles and he was pretty sure he saw a flash of red before he’s in her arms. Mrs. Hale was reasonably small and if Stiles were his 18 year old self, he’d probably be a good three inches taller.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” Mrs. Hale kept muttering as Stiles buried himself in her arms, wanting to feel as small as possible.

Talia Hale was the alpha, as Stiles knew before, but as he shrunk himself in her arms, he took in the warmth of a mother, his pack bond screaming ‘pack’ repeatedly and his heart clenched.

He took the time to take note of the other Hales in the room.

Cora looked just as sane and collected as he last saw her, but Laura. He finally got a good look at her. She looked a lot like her mother but the resemblance between her and Derek was uncanny. They could’ve been twins, but she was three years older.

To Laura’s left was Jake Hale, the oldest of the Hale siblings, a year older than Laura. He was broad and tall, and he had bright, green eyes. His fingers were wrought together between his knees as his elbows rested on them, and he smiled at Stiles when he caught his eye. He looked more like Celeste than he did the rest of his siblings but he could see a little bit of Mr. Hale in him, who, speaking of, was still with his dad in the hall.

Peter was in the bed, obviously, and Stiles was overly curious as to what Peter will be like now that his family was alive. Peter would have to wake up for Stiles to know that, though.

In front of Peter was Ben.

He was two years younger than Stiles, meaning he was only eight when the fire succeeded, and he was adorable as far as Stiles can see. He had major babyface going on and his hair was up to his ears, his small pudgy fingers reaching up to brush it away occasionally. He was sitting on the bed at Peter’s feet, a coloring book in his hands, bandages covering his arms and part of his neck. Small, innocent, _human_ Ben was only eight and had _died_. Stiles almost collapsed of cardiac arrest as he tried to hold in his struggling sobs.

And then there was one body crouched at the corner of the room, chin rested on forearms.

Stiles nearly screamed of happiness, but resorted to making a strangled noise at the back of his throat in exchange for his advanced thoughts.

Derek Hale, 16 year old oblivious Derek Hale, sat there staring at the smaller boy in his mother’s arms.

He was absolutely, _wonderfully_ , stunning.

.0o0o0.

“You look like crap.”

Stiles snuffed, bringing his head up from its buried position in his pillow, Scott standing at the side of his bed with a bowl of cereal in his hands. Stiles grumbled, turning away from him and burying himself further into the blankets. He stayed over at Scott's the night before but promptly fell asleep the minute he changed into sleep attire and hit the sheets.

“Thanks, Scott,” he mumbled sardonically.

“I don’t mean that as a bad thing, it’s just- you look like crap.”

“Saving a family of 11 does that to you.”

Scott hummed in response, climbing onto the bed to sit with his knees knocking against Stiles’ spine, setting the bowl of cereal in his lap as he watched Stiles silently.

Stiles waited for something, anything, to come out of Scott’s mouth regarding his sullen state but aside from the occasional chewing and the clinking of the spoon against glass, it was silent.

“Go on, what do you want to ask me?” Stiles told him, completely out of the blue. Scott didn’t immediately answer but Stiles could practically make out the jumble of words and the turning of cogs in his best friend’s head. Another swallow passed before Scott finally spoke.

“You saved the Hales.”

Silence.

“Yeah.”

“I didn’t know you knew them.”

“I don’t.”

Another beat of silence and the sound of chewing.

“How did you know there was a fire?”

“I didn’t.”

Scott shoved another spoon of cereal and milk down his throat.

“You saved them.”

“Yes.”

Stiles could feel his heart beating against his ribcage while Scott just blinked at him inaudibly.

“Alright.”

Stiles reeled back in shock. He wasn’t expecting Scott to just say ‘okay’ and move on. He got up and _left_ in the middle of the night and the last time someone left Scott in the middle of the night, Scott woke up crying with no explanation and so far, Mr. McCall hasn’t come back. Stiles turned towards his best friend, his partner in crime since the fucking first grade, and raised an eyebrow at him questioningly.

“That’s it?” Scott shrugged and tilted the bowl, setting it down on Stiles’ bedside table as he wiped his mouth with the sleeve of his pajamas.

“I know there’s more you’re not telling me but I know it’s probably not your secret to tell. But you’re gonna tell me eventually right?”

Scott looked at his friend with puppy eyes, and Stiles nearly cried. Eight years and Scott still had that particular look on his face, even as he took his last breath, and Stiles jumped up to hug his friend, burying his nose at the crook of his neck.

Scott jumped at the impact, hesitantly reciprocating but embracing Stiles just as tightly. Stiles smiled, and a warm feeling rushed through his bloodstream, a golden light, his spark, right where his pack bond is, tingling with zaps of electricity.

Stiles inhaled the scent of his best friend and closed his eyes, hoping that this time around he’ll be able to save him, just as he did for him.

.0o0o0.

Lydia showed up at his doorstep at eight o’clock sharp the next day with her dog, Prada if he remembers, in her arms, both human and pup looking as pristine as always. Stiles barely had his eyes open as he blinked sleepily at the redhead on his doorstep, the hand not holding the door scratching at his side. He was lucky his dad an early shift that day.

“Get changed. We’re going to Deaton’s,” she simply said, setting down the dog to let it loose in his house. Lydia walked past him and immediately headed for his kitchen, opening his fridge to grab a few materials for a sandwich as Prade yipped and barked from the living room.

“Lyds,” Stiles winced at the crack in his voice, “It’s so early and why the hell do you need me to come with you to Deaton’s?”

Lydia placed her sandwich in the microwave before turning back to him, her hands on the counter.

“We saved the Hales so that means we’re at a clean slate and maybe he could help direct us with our whole ‘fix it’ plan. And watch your swears.”

Stiles rolled his eyes, knowing her warning was only half-useful, fingers wrapping around the milk carton and tilting it back, Lydia scrunching her face in disgust before resorting to throwing a paper cup at his face once he set the carton down.

It was nice to know that their older selves were still intact with the immaturity of their current ones.

“We can’t tell anyone of our time travel, Lydia. It’s dangerous. Have you not seen _Doctor Who_?”

The smaller girl gave him a deadly side-eye, sliding the sandwich over to him, brushing shoulders as she went up to his room. Stiles followed.

She was rummaging through his drawers before throwing a pair of khakis and a plain black tee in his direction, Stiles flailing his arms around to catch them with the sandwich wedged between his teeth.

“Yes, I’ve seen _Doctor Who_ , and it’s not like we’re going to deliberately tell him. I have to get Prada checked. She hasn’t been eating lately, and she’s been shedding everywhere.”

 

The bell chimed as both ten year olds entered the office, Deaton coming in immediately from behind the mountain ash barrier embedded in the small door. Stiles inwardly smirked and he knew Lydia was too, judging from the look they shared.

“Ms. Martin, Mr. Stilinski,  to what do I owe the pleasure?” Deaton looked between the both of them, and Stiles didn’t miss the confusion that flashed on his face before it was gone, like it wasn’t there in the first place.

Lydia held Prada up towards Deaton like a sacrifice, the pooch growling and kicking its legs.

“She’s been cranky,” Lydia simply stated, handing the pup to Deaton and Stiles following them through the barrier and into the oh-so-familiar checkup room.

Deaton set the dog down on the metal table, Lydia by its side as Stiles stood at the head of the table, watching as Deaton got to work. He was fidgety, tapping mindlessly on the metal before Lydia shot him a deadly glare and shot an apologetic smile back, resorting to rocking back and forth on his heels as his eyes flit around the room. As per usual, the walls were bland, only a few posters up besides the monitors and cabinets. It had always been like that for as long as he could remember and he had lost count of how many times he and the pack (or what will become of the pack) took refuge in the checkup room. Even during the last days, they found a small sense of comfort and protection in the small room, even if it wasn’t much.

It was like Stiles was thinking out loud because suddenly Lydia’s small hand was on his arm and he relaxed, his body unknowingly rigid as flashbacks of the days prior to their reversal played in front of his eyes like a movie scene.

His pack bond zapped in content as it felt his pack member reassure him he was in no danger at all.

Deaton hummed, hands pulling at his gloves as Prada visibly calmed and was now rolling around on the metal table. “It was just fleas. I’ll give you some shampoo and she should be back to normal in no time.”

Lydia nodded in happiness, grabbing the yapping dog back in her arms as Deaton fixed his supplies and got a few bottles out from his cabinets.

“And one more thing.”

Lydia and Stiles both panned their attention toward Deaton, who was still packing and arranging bottles and materials.

“You are not of this world.”

Both children stilled, and even Prada stopped short of her barking as she felt her owner’s hold stiffen. It wasn’t a question, they noticed, but a statement, and they were panicking as to how much Deaton knew already. It seemed like he always knew before they do.

Stiles blubbered, random half-words coming from his mouth as he tried to think of another excuse. The count of how many lies he told in the past two days was way over the number of lies he had told his father in the span of a year.

“We- we-well-just-you know-uh-”

“We went back in time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *this chapter is unedited*
> 
> wow, I can't believe your guys' support for this story and I'm very excited to start writing out plot devices and I'm trying not to spoil anything too quickly. Thanks for reading!


	3. Chapter 3

Stiles was eight when his mother died.

He thinks he should be saddened by her death seeing as it’s only been two years (speaking in terms of time travel) and everyone is still kind of tiptoeing around him and the subject in general, but the thing is, he isn’t affected at all. Sure, he misses her and he still curses at the gods above for taking the life of a woman he so deeply wanted to see him go far in life, but he’s learned to live with it.

Of course it’s hard for both him and his father sometimes (and he knows that with her death anniversary coming up so soon, he’s going to have to watch out for his father since it’s still a sore wound) but realistically, it’s been about 10 years and he got distracted by more important things than mourning his deceased mother, such as trying not to get killed via supernatural creatures.

It’s slipped his mind the minute he and Lydia landed back in circa 2005 and even waking up in such a familiar hospital room hadn’t rung any alarms and to say he was guilty of not even thinking of his mother two years after her death was kind of an overstatement.

So he wasn’t surprised much when Deaton explained that Stiles barely even flinching when walking around the hospital hallways was a dead giveaway. That, and Deaton was, as always, being a smartass.

Lydia huffed and flipped her hair over her shoulder while Stiles just smiled a cheshire cat-like grin at her.

“If you need be reassured, time travel does not affect me. Or supernatural emissaries in general,” Deaton said, leaning forward against the metal table in the center of the room.

At this, Lydia and Stiles whipped their head around so fast Stiles had to groan and grasp at his neck at the sudden pain.

“What do you mean you’re not affected by time travel? Doesn’t telling the details of the future rip a hole in the space time continuum?” Lydia inquired, the familiar glint of curiosity and wonder Stiles recognized sparking in her eyes.

“Like a crack in the universe where time seeps through? Yaknow, like with the eleventh Doctor and when he first met Amy Pond-” Lydia jabbed Stiles in the ribs with her elbow.

“Although it should, emissaries do not feel the strain of time warping and such because we are usually the ones to initiate it and you can’t initiate time travel when you’re being pulled along back or forward in a timeline,” Deaton explains, and never in Stiles’ life has he been jealous of Deaton until that moment.

“But when we went back, it was just me and Stiles. We didn’t have an emissary around.”

Deaton raises an eyebrow but doesn’t push on for details and continues speaking.

“The reason why emissaries are not affected by time travel is because we are guarded by time lords,” Lydia claps a hand over Stiles’ mouth before he can even open his mouth to get a sound out- he bites her but she still keeps her hand clamped over his mouth, “time lords are not people, despite what you’ve watched, Stiles. They are merely astral projections of energy. When an emissary is accepted into a supernatural clan, such as the Hales, there is a rite of passage they must go through before being deemed an emissary. The rite of passage basically makes you swear that you will be bound to the clan until every last living member, blood or not, is dead.”

“And what do the time lords do that prevent you from being affected?” Stiles asks, actually being serious.

“In the rite of passage, you are sworn to protect the clan so if there ever be a catastrophe that wipes most of them, the passage states that you have one chance to fix it. And I’m guessing that’s what you two are here for.”

The duo nods.

“We didn’t have an emissary so how did-” Lydia starts.

“Like I stated, time lords are essentially astral energies. Since there was no emissary around, that energy circulated until it found a strong enough spark to trigger a time warp. Seeing as you’re a banshee-” Lydia hums in agreement, “-and Stiles has a spark, although not seen to its full potential, the energy found enough magic in the both of you together to send you back to a time where you can improve whatever happened in your past timeline, using Lydia’s call to death as an anchor to whom you’re going to save and Stiles’ untapped magic.”

Stiles and Lydia gaped at the information intake and Prada, poor dog, was left alone to yip around the vet office.

They had a chance. They were given a chance to change everything and save their family, their pack, because family don’t end in blood (Stiles mentally high-fived himself for his nerdy reference).

Bless Derek and his extensive collection of seemingly untouched spell books and family heirlooms.

“What happens after we fix everything?” Stiles thought aloud, wringing his small fingers into his shirt.

“I’m guessing you’re talking about the point of return.”

“The what?” the two ten year olds asked in unison.

“The point of return is exactly what is sounds like. It’s the moment you went back in time, but it collides with this timeline. What was the date before you woke up in this timeline?”

“June 21, 2012 at 3:43 A.M.,” Stiles answers immediately, Lydia giving him a pointed look but he refused to meet her gaze.

“So when you pass that moment in time in this timeline, you will already have lost the memories from the previous timeline and every moment from there forth on do not hold any consequences whatsoever. I assume you have two sets of memories as of currently?”

They respond with a “yup” and Deaton hums in content.

“It’s kind of confusing because I always want to tell Scott that we should meet up with the pack but then I remembered that Scott doesn’t even know about werewolves and lord knows none of us are close with any of the pack yet,” Stiles rambles, Lydia nodding her head jerkily in confirmation.

“I almost called Jackson yesterday telling him that we should meet up with you and Scott after school tomorrow but then I remembered that Jackson still thinks so highly of himself and that you two hate him,” Lydia chuckles.

Stiles snorts.

“I still hated him even when the pack was formed.”

“Liar,” Lydia shoves Stiles’ shoulder and he cracks a smile at her, a giddy feeling blooming in his insides but then he remembers the rest of the pack and the feeling wilts away.

“What are we gonna do about the others, Deaton?” Stiles asks the older man.

“Well, you’re going to have to befriend them, just as you had before but you have to build a stronger bond this time. You’ve been given more time to do so.”

Stiles and Lydia sigh but promise to do as he said nonetheless and then they’re leaving, passing the mountain ash with Prada rumbling quietly in Lydia’s arms as Deaton saw them off.

“Oh, and Stiles?”

Stiles turns back around to the emissary and raises his eyebrows in question.

“You’re meeting with me any time you’re free from school or whatever it is you do. We’re going to need to enhance and strengthen your spark.”

.0o0o0.

Groggy and sleep-deprived, Stiles stumbled onto the school bus, letting his body fall onto the seat next to Scott, who gave him an inquiring look of confusion. Stiles waved it away, groaning in pain as he took a large gulp of the mug of coffee he had stolen under his dad’s nose that morning.

“Why are you drinking coffee?” Scott asked, poking his friend on the head that rested upon his shoulder, Stiles swatting away his finger.

Stiles wanted so much to tell Scott because, well, he was his best friend and he was feeling the guilt build up because he believed Scott deserved to know as he was also included in this but of course there’s the whole don’t alter the space-time thing by telling anyone what happens in the future and the fact that Scott will probably think he’s even more of a loony than he is.

He’s in _fourth grade_ and Scott doesn’t get bitten until sophomore year by _Peter_ , who probably won’t even end up turning him since his family is alive and for fucks sake he doesn’t know how he’s going to do this.

“Stressed out,” Stiles mumbles as he takes another large gulp from the thermos.

“Stiles, we’re in fourth grade. How could you possibly be stressed?” Scott asks him, his speaking pace slow as if he was wary to ask him why. That might have to do with the fact that he, if he remembered correctly, was still mourning and coping with his mother’s death even after two years. He was going to have to abandon that act. Current-timeline-him needed to get his shit together.

“Reasons.”

Scott nods and lets it slide but Stiles knows he’s going to be on the receiving end of pitiful and questioning looks later on.

 

Celeste and Cora apparently now sit with him and Scott during lunch as they’re already sitting at the table at the very back of the elementary cafeteria and Scott panics for a second before remembering maybe they had a debt to pay since his best friend did just save them from their absolute death.

“Uhm, what are you guys doing here?” Stiles asks warily, setting his lunch down on the table with carefulness while Scott nods with him, slowly settling himself in front of the younger girl.

The two female Hales just plaster a smirk so eerily Hale and _Derek_ that it sends a shiver down Stiles’ spine.

“Well, hello to you too, Stilinski. We’re just yaknow, sitting here. Waiting for you. Because both of you are now our friends. You’re welcome,” Celeste says casually, her smile just a little on the mischievous side. Cora snickers behind her palm and Stiles wants so badly to glare at her but he’s too busy mulling over why she and her older cool cousin is sitting with him and Scott.

Scott looks uncomfortably comfortable sitting in front of Cora, though, as Stiles stands behind his seat, hand on the chair.

Celeste sends him an even bigger grin, one that is so frighteningly reflective of that of the _Alice in Wonderland_ cheshire cat. Stiles finds comfort in that smile though because it reminds him so much of himself but also of Laura.

Dear sweet Laura whom he hadn’t gotten the chance to know before her untimely death (thanks Peter).

So Stiles sits and somehow he and Scott get pulled into a conversation with the two Hales and they don’t even mind the weird stares the other students are sending them.

 

Stiles wants to bang his head against his desk until he bleeds to death.

He’s back in fourth grade and apparently he has a few more months before summer and then he’s moving on to _fifth_.

He still remembers half the stuff they taught the years he was in high school, before he was unfortunately whipped back in time, but there he was. Back in the fucking fourth grade with annoyingly rude and old Mrs. Maher who he was pretty sure was on his case all the time back then.

He had 10 minutes until he would get out and watching a movie about wolves was not something he wanted to do as of currently.

He already knew as much as there was about them anyway. He ran with them for fun- what else could he learn from a National Geographic documentary?

He bit the inside of his cheek to prevent himself from screaming about the wrong things the documentary were saying. He was being fed lies and he wanted to scream.

Possibly louder than Lydia’s banshee scream.

He looks across the classroom to Lydia who looks like she wants to punch Jackson right next to her. He can hear him babbling about his ego and how his father is hiring him a private lacrosse trainer and blah blah blah and wow Lydia has never had so much distaste for Jackson as she did in that moment.

Good, she knows how he and Scott felt.

Stiles feels a poke in his ribs and he tries not to fall out of his chair as he looks at Cora Hale, who had apparently snatched the empty chair next to him as his desk partner decided to move to the back of the room to take a nap during the film.

She passes him a note and he wants to let out a snort. Note passing. How prehistoric of them.

 _Have you talked to Deaton about your thingy_?

He raises an eyebrow at her question but writes down his answer nonetheless.

**_Yeah._ **

_Mom wants 2 talk 2 u. And dad. And basically the whole fam_

**_y?_ **

_U saved us dude. And plus ur magic. And i think celeste told u about our family thing_

Stiles turned towards the younger Hale and rose an eyebrow before putting his pencil back to the note.

**_The werewolf thing? Yeah but i knew before- celeste didn’t have to tell me. Ur mom turned into a giant man eating wolf right in front of me before i passed out_ **

_Good._

Cora let Stiles read the note before she stuffed it into her backpack and panned her attention back to the screen where a wolf was tearing into the neck of a stag.

He locks eyes with Lydia as he scans the rest of the class, and for a moment he’s a bit concerned at Greenberg who’s teetering on the edge of his chair, but then Jackson looks at him from behind Lydia and if looks could kill.

He isn’t affected though, which probably shouldn’t have made much of a difference to him, but it occurs to him that he knows the real Jackson- the Jackson that took almost a year of puppy piles and pack training to come out; the mellowed, kind-hearted beta that the pack was surprised at at first.

He and Lydia had some work to do.

.0o0o0.

He’s with the rest of the Hales in the home they rented out and Talia Hale had wrapped her arms around his small figure once again, her cheek rubbing against his still fluffy hair and he falls limp in her embrace, small arms hanging at his sides. He could almost purr at the warmth the woman was giving off and he felt a small tingle run through his veins.

The rest of the Hales- minus Peter- were standing behind the alpha woman with soft smiles on their faces.

Talia held Stiles at arms length and he wants to cry at the resemblance between her and Derek because although alive, he misses the other version of him. Broody, demanding sourwolf who, too, had mellowed out with the pack training and the cuddles that were expected afterwards.

He doesn’t know what to think of the 16 year old Derek Hale standing so distant from the others though, face pale and hair mussed.

“Stiles, you shouldn’t have risked yourself,” Talia murmurs to him fondly, holding her palm against his cheek.

“Had to,” he mumbles back, rubbing his eyes with his fist as he refuses to cry in front of the family he’s saved.

“Thank you,” she says, pulling him into another large hug, Mr. Hale, James, at his wife’s side and he sends an appreciative smile his way.

Once he’s been let go, Jake Hale, the fucker, comes up to Stiles and ruffles his hair, which Stiles squeaks at because although he’s mentally 18, he’s physically 10 and 10 year old Stiles Stilinski cared very deeply about his hairstyles.

“You did good, pipsqueak,” Jake muses, moving away before Stiles is tackled by Cora, Celeste, and small eight year old Ben.

The older teens stand with the adults a few feet away from them, smiling as Ben and Celeste babble into Stiles’ ear while Cora just nuzzles her head into his shoulder, scent-marking him into pack.

His chest tingles as more pack bonds are formed and strengthened and Stiles wants to cry in happiness.

He laughs out loud, hitting his head on a small rock as he throws it back and his eyes lock with Derek’s, who stares before looking away.

He pouts but he knows Derek will come around, but he’s too happy to even think about that right now as he’s just been adopted into a werewolf pack.

.0o0o0.

_He’s walking down a hallway of mirrors and doors that lead into direct darkness, and he’s back in his 18 year old form, blurry but still recognizable._

_He’s walking on the forest floor but he’s not surrounded by the forest and he’s opening his mouth trying to scream for help but all that comes out is silence. He clutches at his throat because he can feel his vocal cords vibrating but air is the only thing that bubbles out from his mouth._

_“Stiles!”_

_He whips his head around trying to find the source of his name being called, but he’s still in a room of mirrors._

_He bangs his fists against the mirrors, blood pouring out of his hands as the shards break and pierce his skin as the pleads for him continues._

_“Stiles, please-”_

_“Stiles, don’t go there-”_

_“You’re going to die here-”_

_“Stiles, you need to run-”_

_“STOOOOP-”_

_He slams his body shoulder first into the mirror, feeling the impact but then he falls through and then he’s standing in a circle, his feet crunching on leaves and dirt and fog is up to his knees._

_There are stones near him and he can just blindly see them through the darkness but he walks forward cautiously until he’s standing inside the circle, his breath catching in his throat as he reads them._

_He’s standing in front of tombstones, each stone in a circle a name- a name of a pack member;_

**_Scott McCall, beta_ **

**_Allison Argent, hunter_ **

**_Jackson Whittemore, beta_ **

**_Erica Reyes, beta_ **

**_Isaac Lahey, beta_ **

**_Vernon Boyd, beta_ **

**_Danny Mahealani, human_ **

**_Lydia Martin, banshee_ **

**_Derek Hale, alpha_ **

_Blood coats each tombstone and they drip onto the dirt, as if they were bleeding on top of the stone._

_He feels like throwing up and he runs and then stumbles onto three more tombstones;_

**_John Stilinski, human_ **

**_Chris Argent, hunter_ **

**_Melissa McCall, human_ **

_He keeps on running but he’s trapped inside another circle of rocks;_

**_Talia Hale, beta_ **

**_James Hale, beta_ **

**_Anna Hale, hunter_ **

**_Peter Hale, beta_ **

**_Jake Hale, beta_ **

**_Laura Hale, alpha_ **

**_Celeste Hale, human_ **

**_Cora Hale, beta_ **

**_Benjamin Hale, human_ **

_He’s sobbing and the gruesome image of their deaths flash in front of his eyes and he’s on his feet again, but it seems like he’s running forever until he stumbles, hands clutching onto his chest as it felt like his heart was being ripped out of his ribcage and he looks back but darkness is shrouding his vision until he looks forward again and there’s a light shining down on one more stone like a shrine._

_He doesn’t want to look at another one but he stands anyway and he walks towards it slowly, the cold aura of the darkness creeping up on him._

_He stands in front of the stone and it’s blank but he stares longer and letters are slowly being engraved into the rock, blood dripping out from each letter as it’s being written in stone;_

**_S t i l e s S t i l i n s k i , s o r c e r e r_ **

_He runs his fingers over the words, blood coming onto his fingers until there’s more blood oozing out from the tombstone._

_He screams._


	4. Chapter 4

The Hales were constantly around the Stiles for the rest of the month except for one.

He expected it but he never thought he’d feel so dejected. Cora and Celeste hung around him and Scott during lunch and occasionally they climbed through his window to hang out, bringing little Ben with them some days. They usually spent the time playing board games, in which they were very competitive with, and watching cartoons, much to Stiles’ dismay as he already knew what happens and he was very tempted to spoil the shows.

The older Hales usually hung around him when he and Lydia were at Deaton’s coming in to talk or just watch them practice their magic.

Lydia and he stayed close, acknowledging each other in school at the most and sneaking out to each others’ houses since they didn’t want to blow their cover just yet. Sometimes Stiles would do something dumb that would attract the attention of the people Lydia sat with and she would just send him a knowing glare.

Stiles counted it as a win.

“Hey! You totally cheated!” Stiles reached over Lydia to smack Celeste on the arm, who simply held her controller out of the younger boy’s reach, Lydia huffing beneath them.

“I did _not_! You’re just really bad at this!” Celeste giggles, Cora yelping beside her as the bowl of caramel popcorn gets knocked out of her hands at the sudden movement.

Ben did nothing but shove the fallen kernels into his mouth as he watched the older kids squabble.

“Lydia! Help me!”

She stood up and sat at the loveseat just to the left side of the television, a good five feet away from the building chaos. Stiles blubbered at her in betrayal.

“Et tu?”

“Stiles, sweetie, I adore you but I’m not ruining my manicure helping you get the remote from the obviously more superior Mario Kart-er,” the blonde huffs, throwing her hair over her shoulder in a dramatic flare. Stiles pouts at her and starts to open his mouth again to accuse her of teaming up with Celeste when a large thud accompanied by a small roar comes from his room.

The five of them glance at each other before stampeding upstairs, Stiles at the front.

A shifted Derek Hale growls at the edge of Stiles’ bed, eyes alarmingly blue when it looks up at them.

“God _damn_ it, Derek! Not on my sheets again,” Stiles whines, hitting the werewolf with a pillow until he rolls onto the floor.

“Again?” the other three Hales in the room question.

_Oh fuck._

“Did I say again? I meant not on my sheets _please_.”

Lydia rolls her eyes, an exasperated groan being omitted, while the other Hales shrug it off. Derek’s still shifted on the floor.

Celeste kneels down to her older brother oh so nonchalantly and slaps him across the cheek, the resounding ‘smack’ echoing, albeit satisfyingly, throughout the room. Stiles winces and fully expects the loud alpha roar he was so used to hearing from the 16 year old Hale but there’s a few heavy breaths and a breath-holding silence before Stiles looks up from his view of his feet to the hazel eyes of Derek’s.

Stiles’ breath catches in his throat and he’s sure the werewolves in the room can hear the heavy thump-da-thump-da-thump of his heart. Lydia sends him a look from her peripheral and he knows she can hear his pulse racing, even as a non-werewolf. She knows him too well for her to tell.

“You okay, bro?” Celeste asks, wrapping her fingers around Derek’s wrist. His adam’s apple bobs and Stiles can feel the waves of nervous magic wafting from the older Hale, and he sends a small wave of reassurance back to the werewolf.

Derek visibly relaxes, even just a little, and he nods, wrapping his younger cousin in a hug.

“I will be, but uh, where am I? I just followed your scents and here I am,” he mutters to his siblings.

Stiles takes this as a cue for introductions.

“Welcome to su casa de Stilinski! I’m Stiles, a.k.a. Sorcerer of awesomeness, and that over there,” he points to Lydia standing by the door muttering about how Stiles doesn’t know how to speak spanish correctly, “is Lydia, a.k.a. Her royal strawberry blonde majesty. This is my humble abode where all there other peasants-” he directs his words towards Ben, Cora, and Celeste, “-just stop by because they don’t have any awesomeness in their lives and need some of mine to borrow- Oh! And we have Mario Kart running downstairs and about six platters of cookies waiting at the kitchen counter, so tell me Derek, what’s your favorite cookie?”

Five pairs of eyes lock themselves onto the older Hale and his eyes flitter to every single pair before he clears his throat and answers quietly, “I love oatmeal chocolate chip.”

Stiles grins widely. _His_ Derek loved oatmeal chocolate chip cookies, too, (no surprise there har-dee-har) and the pack got weirdly obsessed with them and there were often nights when they fought over oatmeal chocolate chip cookie rations.

Stiles’ chest aches at the thought.

“Great! Lucky for you we have _two_ batches of that!”

Stiles starts his trek downstairs, Lydia following wordlessly, nor without a glance at Derek.

The Hales are standing at the foot of Stiles bed, minds running over what just happened when a loud clanging of metal and ‘MOTHERFUCKER’ is heard from where the kitchen is.

Derek is confused when Cora and Celeste groan and Ben sighs, Ben rolling his eyes before walking downstairs, stopping at the doorway to throw looks over his shoulder, and a large string of profanity that makes even Derek blush echoing from downstairs. He’s kind of appalled by the amount of dirty language that’s coming from a ten year old.

“Stiles probably dropped a batch and he’s going to start stress baking. We need to help him,” Ben says, Cora and Celeste dragging Derek with them, muttering things like ‘I hate it when this happens’ and ‘Stiles needs another hobby’ as they descend the stairs.

Derek discovers he hates baking with a passion as Stiles and Lydia bark panicked orders at each other as the oven goes up in flames.

.0o0o0.

“So, Isaac, do you wanna sit with us- wait, shit- I mean, fuck- oh god nevermind- Celeste, are you crying?”

The blond boy looks confusedly up at Stiles when Celeste comes barrelling towards the brunet, pulling him in a bone crushing embrace, sobs wracking her small frame.

“They s-said that they-they’re unsure when d-dad’s going to wake up,” she stutters so heartbroken that even Isaac, who doesn’t even know the crying Hale, feels his heart ache for her.

“Even with his abilities?” Stiles mumbles, feeling wet tears make its way onto his shaggy hair.

“Deaton says it’s psychological, but I don’t know all of it.”

Stiles nods in response, and turns his head to direct his attention back to the blond who’s staring oh so lost at the two.

Celeste follows Stiles’ eyes and forces a smile onto her face, wiping her face with her hand.

“Oh, hey! Isaac, right?” Celeste says.

Isaac nods slowly, eyes wide. Why would a _Hale_ be voluntarily be talking to him? Much less know his name.

“I’m Celeste, and I’m guessing you know Stiles,” she points a thumb towards Stiles who’s all teeth and smiles as he waves at Isaac.

“Sit with us for lunch?” Celeste asks, head cocking to the side as she puts on her ‘princess face’, as Stiles and the Lydia put it, all soft smiles and sleepy eyes.

Isaac’s head bobs in happiness and he follows Celeste to their usual table at the edge of the cafeteria, the older girl yapping at whatever’s on her mind while Isaac just listens on mindlessly, eyes looking up at her in awe.

Stiles scoffs and almost trips over a garbage bin, when he spots Lydia waving at him towards the hall.

“We need to bring in the others as soon as possible,” Lydia whispers to him through her teeth, eyes scanning the hall for other students.

“We have a third of Derek’s betas. You bring in Jackson and Danny. Allison doesn’t come in until high school. But since Kate is actually found guilty this time, it’s unsure if the Argents are even coming to live in Beacon Hills as early as sophomore year,” Stiles thinks of his timeline and the timeframe of each pack member.

“What about Malia?” Lydia seethes.

Stiles hums and tries to remember her pack bond, but it was like he couldn’t feel it anymore. Usually with his pack bonds, it was tangible to him, easy to grasp inside of him, like he was pulling his own organs out, but when he reached for Malia’s it was nothing but empty space. It was like she never existed at all. It couldn’t have been that she was unreachable- Jackson, Danny, Erica, and Boyd were but theirs were still within reach, faint but still present.

“Celeste is Peter’s only daughter and she’s a year older than us,” Stiles begins. Lydia raises an eyebrow at him.

“And?”

“Malia is our age. I don’t think she was ever conceived.”

“Stiles, we went back in time, not in an alternate universe.”

Stiles shakes his head and he can feel his ribcage constricting.

“I don’t know. I don’t know,” he mutters, his hands shaking. He can feel the thrum of his magic run down his veins like toxic and the feeling’s warm and it pricks through his skin like needles. He’s so confused and distraught. It wasn’t like Malia was completely gone- there’s a mold of where her pack bond was, like a print on cement, so her’s was there before, Stiles knows that. But he didn’t know how.

His 18 year old self didn’t know about his spark until a few months before the pack’s demise, and even as early as he was to practice it in his 10 year old state, his magic was unstable and underdeveloped.

“Okay, okay, breathe Stiles. We’re heading over to Deaton’s after school. We need to know what happened and where Malia is at this point in the timeline,” Lydia murmurs in his ear as she takes him in her arms, grabbing his hand to put it over the beating of her heart, locking her eyes with his to help him steady his panicked breathing.

Stiles clears his throat and smiles softly at the redhead, nodding his head back towards the cafeteria. “We should get back inside before our secret gets out before its time.”

Lydia lets out a full hearted laugh and turns him, pushing him forward back into the cafeteria with a trip. Stiles looks back at his packmate with a huff and a glare but she doesn’t notice as she’s already walking back to her table.

Stiles takes a seat next to Cora, right in front of Isaac. The blond boy sends a shy smile towards him and he knows it’s one of gratitude.

Stiles hums in satisfaction as he feels Isaac’s bond tighten in his chest like a string. He takes a look at the table around him, cheeks hurting from his wide grin- Scott’s busy talking destruction with Celeste, Celeste occasionally dodging pieces of apple thrown by Cora, Isaac having been pulled into her evil plans, but smiling otherwise.

Next, was Erica and Boyd, and a follow up with Jackson and Danny. The others would have to wait until high school.

.0o0o0.

Lydia knocked her fist against Stiles’ forehead causing the boy to scowl.

“You idiot! You set the papers on fire!” Lydia screeched, stomping on the papers to stop the small fires from spreading onto the grass as they were in the middle of the preserve.

“Apparently going back in time causes my spark to be more unstable,” the sorcerer mutters, kneeling to help Lydia with putting out the small fires.

The redhead rolls her eyes and sighs, exasperated, before standing back up and dusting the dirt off her legs and sundress. It was a Saturday and Stiles was expecting to just sleep in and play with his old-school video games (because let’s face it- Stiles completely forgot how crappy the graphics were back in 2005 and he liked to time himself to see how long he could last without chucking the controller at the chunky TV screen) but Deaton had called him the exact minute Lydia barged into his kitchen, telling him that he needed to practice his spark and since it was his day off, why not?

Apparently, knowing things ahead of time- like all the things he was learning currently in the fourth fucking grade- was tiring. Getting ahead of homework and quizzes gave him a lot of freetime and god, was it ever so boring.

Deaton had them practice their tether in the clearing of the preserve.

“Your tether was the igniting factor that sent you back here,” Deaton had explained to them that one Tuesday, “Stiles’ spark triggers Lydia’s anchor to death, like, a matchbox per say, or a floodgate. With that spark, the spirit world that your mind had access to, Lydia, opens and your scream releases them.”

“How did that send us back then?” Lydia had asked, as she sat criss-cross on the metal table in the middle of the check-up room, Stiles playing with the little kitten that Deaton had been checking before they came in.

“Stiles’ spark is connected to the earth. As a sorcerer, he’s the Earth’s emissary. His magic is grounded to the Earth’s core, and therefore he has access to all the souls in the underworld, magical and non. Being a banshee, you’re like a lighthouse for death, attracting the souls to you. With the fresh agony of losing your pack and bonds, Stiles’ spark triggered the need to bring them back and instead of exchanging his soul for theirs, like many sorcerers do, his spark conjured a compromise with the Earth and Earth brought their souls back to a time where everything could still be fixed.”

“If it was a compromise what does Earth get in return?” and Stiles was wondering why they spoke of their planet as if it was a living, breathing human.

“Think of the underworld as purgatory, maybe hell, it depends. Earth simply wants those souls who are tainted. Like those who killed with no purpose but pleasure, is an example.”

Stiles had gotten it at that point, had understood how important his and Lydia’s abilities were in the progression of the pack.

“With more practice, eventually you can open your tether with Lydia telepathically anytime,” Deaton had shouted out the door, as the two of them were leaving, and Stiles shared a grin with Lydia that might or might not have been slightly on the psychotic side.

The pair sat across each other in the ring of mountain ash they had circled around them, for safety and magical purposes, as the circle of mountain ash was required, like they did last time.

“So we’re not sending ourselves back, remember that,” Stiles told Lydia as he gathered the spellbooks and placed them around them.

Lydia was going to permanently place her pupils facing the inside of her head from rolling her eyes aggressively so much.

“I know, I know. I was there when Deaton told us. We’re just simply trying to strengthen our telepathic doorways, which might trigger looking back into our past timeline, yada yada,” she waved her hand as if swatting at a fly.

Stiles took a deep breath, exhaling in a low huff of air from his mouth, before holding his hands out for Lydia to hold.

Their palms touch and it was like chemistry- Stiles’ hand was sweaty and warm and Lydia’s was cold, like the shivers her wails brought. He felt his teeth knock against each other at the tingle the opposite temperatures caused.

“Ready?” Lydia mumbled to him, voice shaking.

Stiles swallows the words he can’t seem to say and nods to her instead. She squeezes his hand as a tell that she understood him.

They close their eyes and relax, feeling their own magic run through their blood, pumping to and from their heart, arteries, sparkling like a gold elixir. Their magic flows airily from palm to palm and Stiles can feel his body sweat from the friction his spark causes with the rush of its flow.

It starts to hurt.

Both of them hiss when it first hits their abdomens, both their knuckles turning white from the grip they have on each other.

But then Stiles pulls Lydia towards him with a scream, feeling like a hammer was pounding against his skull and Lydia opens her eyes and crouches over him, their magic tied around their hands like a rope even though their palms weren’t touching anymore.

“Stiles! Wh- What is happening?” Lydia cries, eyes tearing up and hands hovering over his body as he grits his teeth in pain, fingers digging into the skin of his head, like he was trying to rip his brain out.

Inside of Stiles’ brains, his memories were playing like a movie fast-forwarding.

“I- I don’t know! It’s like- it’s like- ah!”

.0o0o0.

_“Merry birthday, you fucker!”_

_It was Christmas of junior year and the Hale house was newly rebuilt, the pack having been moved in since the start of the school year._

_Stiles laughed at the doorway as Erica bounced on the California king bed, pulling the duvet over her and Lydia’s shoulders._

_“Reyes, Martin, if it’s before nine, I swear to god I’ll rip your throat out with my teeth,” their alpha’s rumbly voice scolded under the pillows, since his duvet were oh so sadly pulled off._

_“Damn right,” Malia bumps into Stiles’ shoulder as she walks past him and lifts a pillow to snuggle herself into her cousin’s side._

_“Aye, lazy bums! It’s both Christmas and our alpha’s birthday, so could our birthday boy please get up already?” Isaac yelled, just coming into the room, and hopping over to Derek’s other side, yelping while trying to avoid the constant up and down of Lydia and Erica’s feet. Scott and Boyd hanging next to Stiles at the doorway, a camera in Boyd’s hand. Jackson and Danny were finishing up the last touches to the surprise they had planned for Derek._

_“I hate you all. Why did I bite a bunch of toddlers?”_

_“You love us!” the betas plus the humans answered, Danny and Jackson’s voices echoing from downstairs._

_That seemed to rouse Derek, as he sat up, Malia and Isaac falling off the bed at the sudden movement, the werecoyote rubbing her side while baring her teeth at nothing in particular._

_Even with the two years that Stiles had been with the pack, who themselves have just adjusted and finally accepted wolf-dom just a few months ago, he was not used to the side of domesticity Derek now showed around the pack. He was no longer the grouchy sourwolf (as often anyways) but instead it was like he had completely forgave himself and the rest of the world for what happen to his family, although he was still as secretive as before. To Stiles, he was like a checkerboard, some parts of his past still hidden in the shadows._

_Derek walked towards the doorway, his hair sticking up different ways, Scott, Boyd, and Stiles scrambling away from the grasp of their newly awakened alpha with laughter._

_Isaac and the three girls ducked under Derek’s swinging hand, giggling as they ran downstairs towards the others, but Stiles left behind, still giddy from the laughter of running away._

_He plopped himself on the still unmade bed on his stomach. Resting his chin on his hands as he watched Derek change._

_“Happy birthday, sourwolf,” he told the older man, all smiles and mischief. Derek sent back a playful glare and headed towards his connecting bathroom, doing his business and what not and Stiles took this time to ponder._

_The pack was now complete- they were happy and healthy, they trusted one another and currently, there was no one actively trying to tear them apart and murder them._

_The past few months were not easy on the pack._

_With the nogitsune and Allison, it was hard to adjust to being normal again. Even with the events of last year, they were still slightly jaded and needed time, even as perfect-looking as they were. Stiles knew the most pressure was on Derek, being the almighty alpha and all._

_Derek got out barefoot with his hair in its usual style, messy but slicked back a bit, and a white long sleeved henley paired with a pair of red sweats._

_Stiles was still shirtless with his flannel pajama bottoms from last night. His eyes raked up and down Derek’s form silently, causing the raven haired man to cock an eyebrow at him as he rolled his sleeves up to his elbows._

_“What?” Derek asked, blinking at Stiles, his voice soft and fond._

_Stiles shook his head and fixed himself so he faced Derek sitting criss-cross on the bed. “How are you?” he asked the older man, watching as he stepped closer to sit next to him._

_Derek smiled and glanced at Stiles from his peripheral._

_“It’s Christmas and my birthday Stiles, I’m great. And Malia seems happy with you, and that makes me happy. How are you?”_

_“I’m dating your cousin, man, and she’s- she’s amazing. And you’re our alpha, and you’ve finally lightened the fuck up so, I’m great,” Stiles ends with a chuckle._

_Derek shakes his head and they sit in silence for a while, Stiles interrupting it by patting Derek’s hand and standing in front of him._

_“It’s good?”_

_The werewolf looks down and Stiles can see the corners of his mouth turn up in a soft smile._

_“Yeah. Yeah, it’s- it’s really good. We did good.”_

.0o0o0.

“Stiles!”

Stiles wakes up with a startled gasp, heart beating like a machine gun in his chest, the low hum of his magic buzzing in his ear, visible to him like heat waves. He feels Lydia’s cold hands on his arm, squeezing the muscle trying to stabilize his magic, even for a bit.

“Lydia-” his calls come out in wheezes, hands shaking, body sweating.

“Stiles, Stiles- Stiles look at me,” her hands cup his face, and a flash of their kiss back when the alpha pack kidnapped their parents, and his body shakes even more.

“Stiles, _please_ ,” Lydia chokes on her words, eyes watering. She’s experienced her good share of his panic attacks and she knew what to do but now, it was like she doesn’t even know what’s going on, with his magic and hers, and she does the best thing she can think of and is hug Stiles tightly, the impact of his hyperventilating and her arms wrapping around him causing them to lie down on the dirt, Lydia on top of Stiles.

They lie there  until Stiles’ body freezes, and Lydia could feel his heart stop hammering against his ribcage, and then they’re just lying there with heavy breaths, and light sobs.

“D-Did you see?” Stiles mumbles, sniffing. Lydia nods her head against his chest, tears tracking down her cheeks, soaking the older boy’s shirt.

“I-I didn’t see everything but I-I got glimpses and-and,” she chuckles sadly, “that was our first and last Ch-Christmas as a pack and it-it was the best one we-we’ve ever had.”

Stiles can still hear the pack’s voice, _his_ version of the pack, in his ear, saying, screaming, the words from his memory like a vinyl record, on a continuous loop.

He can still hear Erica and Lydia’s giggles accompanied by the sound of the bed creaking under their jumping, Boyd’s humming when he cooked for the pack, Isaac and Scott’s constant trash-talk when playing video games, Derek and Jackson’s constant mutterings under their breaths about the smallest of things, Danny’s logical but incomprehensible reasonings, and Malia’s growls that very much resembled that of Derek’s.

Stiles heart still aches for Malia.

When they had asked Deaton about the situation with Malia, he simply said that sometimes, averting a fixed catastrophe can cause multiple lives to cease to exist, never even having been born at all. When they explained that Malia was their age, the veterinarian just sent them a sympathetic smile and said, “It happens. I’m sorry.”

To think that in exchange of a whole family of werewolves, they would lose one pack member.

“Lydia, can we just be done for today?” Stiles sobs, hands grasping at the hem of her shirt, tears leaking.

The banshee doesn’t say anything but break the line of mountain ash and stuff their books and files inside the bag she had brought, before taking hold of Stiles’ hands and walking out of the preserve.

Lydia drops Stiles off at his house with a tight hug and a feather-light kiss on the cheek right where his tears had dried, to let him know she was hurting with him, and he trudges up to his room with a heavy soul, and has the biggest _holy fuck_ of a panic attack he’s ever had.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know there is some confusion on some things, even i got confused with all my planning, but there are a few things to point out that are vital to this story (these are not "spoilers" per say, but just simple facts so you understand future chapters);  
> 1) the timeline in which Stiles and Lydia traveled back from was the canon storyline up until season 4 (it was the summer before senior year when they traveled back) but Erica and Boyd are alive, Kira was not issued into the pack at the time of the flashback from the last chapter, Liam and Mason are not in the pack since Scott never bit Liam because Derek's the alpha (in both timelines hint hint), Jackson is back and he and Danny were let in because Jackson's a werewolf under Hale supervision, and Peter's partying it up somewhere  
> 2) the timeline that Lydia and Stiles altered will include everybody "important" from the canon timeline but not all of them will be pack

_Stiles knew they couldn’t get out of there alive without at least half the pack sacrificing themselves. Derek knew that, too, way before the others even realized they were all going to perish._

_“Derek, there has to be some other way,” Scott pleaded, Isaac by his side as he tried to lessen Scott’s pain._

_Derek looked around his beaten pack and kept a clenched fist by his side._

_Stiles and Lydia were talking strategy by his feet while Danny wrapped gauze Stiles’ arm, Erica, Boyd, and Jackson were huddling together with labored breaths._

_They all knew it was the end. It was their fight and they knew they weren’t going to survive, even with their willpower._

_“There’s no other way, Scott, I’m sorry.”_

_Scott nods curtly, but his lower lip is trembling and Derek sets his hand on his shoulder and squeezes, because although they weren’t going to make it out alive to what was left of their families, Derek wanted them to know they weren’t going to leave them without a shred of dignity and that they had each other._

_Till death do them part._

_For the Hale pack, it seemed like all they knew was fire._

_Derek’s family acquainted themselves to it quite literally, Stiles’ magic was often analogized with flames,  Lydia always seemed to be into Peter’s mind and all she ever saw was the tragedy that engulfed him in pain, one of the deputies was a hellhound- it was tiring._

_It seemed only fitting that their souls were snuffed out in a fire._

.0o0o0.

Stiles spends a good chunk of the month watching Erica and Boyd. He sizes them up, feels around for their auras, and plans carefully so he knows how and when to approach them. He’s responsible for those two, while Lydia would bring Jackson and Danny in at her own pace.

Isaac and Scott were slowly but surely being integrated into the Hale pack, although they were still not in tune with the werewolf secret.

Celeste says Talia will deal with that. Eventually.

The Alpha already clued in John and Melissa, as they were present when Stiles showed up outside Peter’s hospital room with Lydia, Melissa having been suspicious of almost to none burn injuries and why her son’s best friend left her son in the middle of the night to tend to a family he didn't know and of course, John had to be clued in almost immediately as Stiles was incompetent with his lies.

Lydia and Stiles continue to train with Deaton, another reason why the Sheriff had to know about the Hales, and the vet tries to help them map out a timeline, so they know when to be prepared.

“That’s the second book you’ve blown up in a week, Stiles,” Lydia mutters with disdain, as she brushes off the ashes that have seemed to have gotten on her cashmere sweater. Deaton just shakes his head and sighs from his spot in the corner of the office trying to fix up potions and such.

“I’m usually more in control of my magic,” Stiles retorts, pudgy little 10 year old fingers pushing the burnt notebook into the trashcan with his magic, a little too forcefully for his taste. Lydia flinches at the sudden clanging of the metal.

“Going back in time changes everything, Stiles. Even your magic’s stability,” Deaton says, turning towards them with another pile of books in hand. He pulls out some sort of bestiary-type notebook ironically titled _“Time Management for Sorcerers”_.

“That’s not cryptic at all,” Stiles mumbles back, earning him a hard nudge in the ribs from Lydia.

“Why do you even have this in the first place?” Lydia asks the vet, turning the dusty book in her hands in distaste.

“It’s a necessity for emissaries for when in case chances as such,” he narrows his gaze to his trainees, “happen to arise.”

“Who wrote this?” Stiles asks, squinting at the ancient text written in… Gaelic?

“A Scottish sorcerer known to the supernatural world as ‘The Oracle’.”

“Oracle? Really?” Lydia crosses her arms, and raises an eyebrow.

“He’s sort of an outcast and he’s- I guess, in other words, really old. No one knows much about him other than that. And that he knows way more than he writes in his books.”

Stiles flips through the pages, lingering on the diagrams and intricate equations, he recognizes as some hardcore physics, and his eyes hurt at this unknown language he and Lydia have to read.

“We’re going to have to learn old languages now aren’t we?” Stiles whines, and he regrets even asking when Deaton pulls out another few books, slamming them down on the metal table causing the dust and dirt to cloud around Stiles and Lydia like smoke, making them cough and grimace in turn.

Stiles turns around and begins to bang his head on the wall.

 

“You know, for a fourth grader, you swear a whole lot.”

Stiles looks down from his perch, a high branch in the large oak tree just outside the high school library, and almost falls when he notices that it’s _Derek_ who he hasn’t spoken to since he stumbled into his room a month or so back, and wow has his hair always been this spiky?

“Habits coming from the Sheriff himself, ey?” Stiles jokes, trying to ease the tension that’s sitting between them.

Literally.

Derek scaled this tree in 10 seconds flat and now he’s sitting in front of Stiles, _The Odyssey_ now open on his lap. Stiles wouldn’t dare tell Derek how his small figure climbed up a 15 foot tree.

“I, uhm, just wanted to thank you for saving us,” the older boy mumbles, keeping his eyes on his book.

It was the beginning of April and it kind of irks Stiles that it took almost four months for Derek skirting around the subject of the fire and Stiles in general to finally talk to him. He gets it, but it also kind of annoys him because it’s not even Derek’s fault that he didn’t know Kate was an Argent and yeah, she was hot and every young teenage boy’s wet dream, but Stiles was too far gone on just _Derek_ (not that he'd like to admit he was, is? attracted to his former/might be alpha) that he couldn't see why Derek associated himself with the tall, blonde hunter. Stiles knew too much about her to think she looked like a snake anyways.

Stiles knew about Paige, he knew about how everything with her went down, he knows why his beta eyes turn blue, he _knows_ why Derek even bothered to mess around with Kate. He was young, he was still hurting from the loss of his first love, and just like anyone going through relationship pains, he was in need of physical touches, and Stiles just wants to wrap him in a hug and tell him that everything will be okay and that he’ll be happy.

He’s unsure if what he’d be saying would be true, though.

“Dude, you don’t have to thank me for being right on time,” Stiles reassures the werewolf, squirming in his spot.

They settle into a silence Stiles was used to. It was the patented Derek-doesn’t-know-how-compliments-work silence and Stiles and the pack had so many of those to deal with that they kept a small jar with them everywhere they went that was filled to the brim with small fortune-cookie like papers that included conversation starters.

His personal favorite was “did you know it takes 72 hours for sloths to have sex”.

“What?”

Stiles looks up from the book he’s reading, one of the ones that that old Scottish man wrote, and Derek’s faces is full of confusion and bewilderment.

“I said that out loud, didn’t I?”

Derek nods and Stiles really needs a better brain to mouth filter.

They sit on that branch, together, until they finally look up from their own worlds to realize that one, it’s really dark out, and two, the library’s already being locked up.

“Wow, shit, it’s late,” Stiles mutters to himself, hurriedly packing his stuff and simultaneously trying not to fall off. Derek goes at a slower pace but stares at the 10 year old, again wondering why he swears so damn much, while he packs his own things.

“I’ll drop you off at yours?” he asks, a little hesitant.

Stiles whips his head towards the older boy and smiles.

“You think you can give me a ride? Werewolf and all.” Derek levels him with a non-amused stare and throws a leaf in his direction.

“Har har, you think you're so funny, don't you, Stilinski?”

“How else will I go about my days? Broody and with disappearing eyebrows like you?”

Derek hops down the branch first with a petulant frown and watches as Stiles wills the branch to lower him to the ground.

“My eyebrows don’t disappear,” he says indignantly, trailing after the fourth grader when he runs towards the parking lot.

“When you’re wolfy, they do.”

Derek sighs in retaliation and scoops Stiles up in his arms and places him on his shoulders, backpack and all, and Stiles should think it’s weird but he keeps forgetting that this isn’t the Derek he knew at all. And that Derek is 6 or so years older than him. And that he’s one tall teenager. And Stiles is not.

So Stiles washes away the uneasiness he brings himself and reminds himself to enjoy the piggyback ride that Derek is giving him by wrapping his short, scrawny arms around the werewolf’s head.

Derek does nothing but walk with a skip in his step towards the Stilinskis’ house.

.0o0o0.

It’s uncomfortable how comfortable Stiles is when he walks into his house from Deaton’s only to see Ben, Celeste, and Cora playing twister on one end of his living room and Lydia, Scott, and Isaac in a heated argument about _The Lion King_ of all things while playing uno.

His dad’s at work, and so is Melissa, so there’s no adult supervision and he wonders what the hell he’d gotten himself into the minute he associated himself with the Hale children.

The much younger generations, mostly. The older ones tend to keep to themselves.

Except Laura.

Laura’s a whole different category.

“I see what’s going on. You’re just using me for my living room,” Stiles jokes as he plops himself down on the couch overlooking them all.

“And your entertainment vices. Everything at home sucks,” Celeste strains as she tries to get her foot under Cora.

Stiles hums in response and he closes his eyes to the sound of screaming and weak insults, only to be disturbed when someone sits on him, and suddenly he’s finding himself with a mouthful of thick, silky hair.

He opens is eyes to a nest of fiery red hair, and hums in content at the nuzzling Lydia was doing against his neck.

“I miss them,” she murmurs, hot breath hitting the spot just below his ear. Stiles sighs and wraps his arms around her, nosing her hair.

“I know. I do, too, all the time.”

“I miss how Malia always growled at Derek for eating her cookies, I miss how Erica and Allison always gave me advice when we went shopping, I miss how you and Derek always seemed to have facial expression competitions, I miss how Isaac, Scott, Jackson, and Boyd wrestled in their beta forms, and dammnit, I miss how horrible our stomachs would ache after Danny kept baking.”

“They’re all alive and here, Lyds.”

“But they’re not _them._ ”

Stiles couldn’t do anything but sigh because he understood the strain of her statement. The pack he loved and cherished so dearly was alive, but it wasn’t the pack he had came to know before. This pack still had yet to overcome their differences and get to know each other, this pack still had yet to have their alpha to grow up and go through his teenage angst before becoming the alpha Stiles and Lydia knew before, this pack- this pack had yet to understand what it means to become a pack.

Even when they do they get their pack back, he knows that it still wouldn’t be the same. They now had the very much alive Hale pack to learn from, and lean on for them to start bringing in the members, and even with that its understandable that all they needed left was time. A lot of it.

It was just a turning point as to what would happen now that Kate Argent is in custody and will be persecuted, causing most of the dominoes that had toppled before to disappear.

So in short, Lydia and Stiles needed to be patient in order to know what they were dealing with and how they could come out of this timeline unscathed.

“Lydia, they’re all here, even though we have to deal with the fact that they’re not the pack members we have come to tolerate and admire, but the bonds are still there, deep within our sparks. They’re here and we’re just going to have to give them a little bit of a jumpstart,” Stiles reassures her and Lydia hums in response. Not an agreement, but an acknowledgment that she understands and she knows that they’ll just have to wait it out.

“Stop being mushy and come play with us, you disgusting duo,” Stiles hears Celeste say from her spot in the room.

He and Lydia are so lucky Cora was the only werewolf in the room and her abilities weren’t in tune yet.

He and Lydia get up to join the others and that’s when the Sheriff walks in with Talia and Melissa in tow, all their eyebrows furrowed and mouths downturned because why the hell were all their kids a heap of a mess on the floor of the Stilinskis’ living room.

John’s the first to react and all he does is wave a hand towards them with an eye-roll and a scoff before he heads into the kitchen, Melissa tailing after them quickly before he gets to the hidden liquor stash.

Talia Hale just crouches next to the kids with a small smile.

“Hi, mom.”

“Hi, Mrs. Hale.”

“Hi, Aunty Tally.”

The alpha takes a seat next to Ben and ruffles his hair as she greets all of them back. “What are all of you guys doing?” she asks, eyes roaming around the mess that used to be the living room.

“We don’t know,” Celeste says honestly before going back to setting up the dominoes she had coerced Stiles into playing with her, leading them both into a babble of elementary-school reasoned architectural structures.

Ben looks up at his mom, jade green eyes and all, and asks her what she’s doing at the Stilinski household with Melissa and John.

The others aren’t looking towards them but they’re listening and Stiles looks at Talia fixing Ben’s messy hair and catches the sad smile he gives him, but she doesn’t seem to notice.

“We should invite them to our moon run tonight, shouldn’t we?”

 

Talia invites Melissa and John and the three of them convince Mr. Lahey and Mrs. Martin to allow Isaac and Lydia to hang out with them for the night because it had seemed that Isaac had been sucked into the small friend group the younger Hales, Lydia, Scott, and Stiles had made and Mrs. Martin was curious as to where her only child had been disappearing to. They were both reluctant but eventually they had allowed their kids to do whatever they wanted as long it was with the Hales, Melissa, or John.

The first thing Isaac and Scott saw when they had approached the backyard was Derek shifted in his beta form and Scott had _screamed_.

Isaac on the other hand had yelped, giddy, and ran over to where Talia, in her alpha form, was running and attempted to ride her back.

She trotted around the yard for a good half hour with Isaac on her back pretending to be a knight.

It was a good thing Melissa decided tonight was the night Scott and Isaac were let in on the werewolf secret because immediately after, they had been distracted with food and they had shrugged off the fact that werewolves existed.

Scott kept making wolverine references to Derek.

The 16 year old seemed thrilled with the attention.

Stiles and Lydia had been on the edge of the yard, dueling with their magic while Deaton, who was also in attendance, watched over them and made sure they didn’t hurt each other.

It was easy dueling Lydia, Stiles mused. Lydia although banshee, had a small spark in her, not like Stiles’, but present and tangible nonetheless.

He was controlling each flow of golden magic like he was manipulating satin; it was smooth and airy, and he had no issue adding more. Both his and Lydia’s eyes were glowing a bright gold, Lydia’s a bit more suppressed, but not like the beta werewolves’ shifted eyes, but more like it was pure gold in their irises.

The gold was bright and it shined so effortlessly in the dimly light yard that they heard similar sounding gasps when they stood in front of each other and brought the sparks to flame in their palms.

Stiles felt his adrenaline sky rocket, and he knew Lydia’s did too, and it was exciting, the way he felt his veins turn warm and the blood turn silver at the surface of his skin. He relished the way he felt the same warmth travel down his spine and the way the individual sparks danced on his fingertips. He held onto the memories of what was and what could’ve been and he was anchored- he refused to let his sparks go haywire like they usually do during training. He was surrounded by half his pack, and the new one that made space and opened up for new members.

He and Lydia galloped around the backyard in an intricate, improvised dance while they led their magic to hang themselves in thin air with the sheer force of will and want, and they laughed, and they stumbled around in the spring grass showcasing their magic, their life force, to everyone and watching their own creations twirl and twist and flutter around like fairies and its _enchanting_ the way they seem to make their own music, silent in the air but thrumming in everyone’s ears.

A magical moon run, indeed.

The magic users collapse next to their wolf and human counterparts in a fit of giddy giggles and genuine, curious questions and the younger ones huddle in a messy heap on the dewy ground and they’re stargazing but not really because they’re all staring at the sparks Lydia and Stiles had left hanging like a lightbulb exhibit of some sort, and Stiles is at peace, somewhat.

He’s accepting that this is his pack now, and they will get his old one back, but for the meantime, this pack he’s been so lovingly accepted into can help bring the same feeling of _homeandworthandunity_ he knew his Derek fought so hard to keep, even until the end.

He takes in the sound of happiness around him but then his body goes rigid and he shoots up from his spot, earning him a whine from Cora, but he’s not minding her. He’s just staring at the adults standing on the back porch with shock and bewilderment.

“You’re moving to New York?!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really proud of this story and I'm so happy to hear your guys' responses and comments and I'm so happy that you guys are enjoying this! I am going to make some changes to the chapter titles very soon but other than that, until the next chapter!


	6. Chapter 6

The air turned solemn around the property.

The once lively atmosphere was now silent, aside from the adults whispering to each other in hushed murmurs. The younger kids were still huddled around each other, Laura, Derek, and Jake joining them in silence as they all watched Stiles’ sparks rain on them continuously, like they were coming from an invisible rain cloud, touching their skin with a small zap, almost like it wasn't there.

Stiles looked around at the limbs that splayed around him, and avoided the sad look Derek threw him.

“I don’t wanna go to New York,” Cora grumbled, pulling Derek’s arm tighter around her and Isaac, who didn’t even seem fazed by the news but everyone knew he was, but he just closed his eyes and took in the comfort that being surrounded by warm bodies brought.

Lydia crawled over Jake to get to Stiles and Scott, promptly burying herself between them, reaching her hand over Scott to hold onto Isaac’s outreached one. They stayed like that, breathing in, out, the breeze and magic that surrounded the backyard. The sparks were no longer dancing and twirling around like they were a few minutes ago, but instead glittering and glowing above them, light fading in a blink-blink-blink. Stiles held his hand up and the sparks followed as it waved, stringing themselves all around the backyard and into the forest, casting shadows like fairy lights.

He twists his neck to the werewolf lying above him, watching as Derek stared at the sky in anticipation. Stiles follows, and it’s near midnight judging from the peak of the moon, and he raises a hand to rest upon Derek’s skin, but not quite, his fingers just hovering over open skin. Damn his short arms.

Derek sees the younger boy struggle and opts to fit the small hand in his large one. Stiles grins up at him, and even in the moonlight he can see a blush coming upon Derek’s cheeks.

Stiles confirms his suspicion and sits up, causing his cuddle-buddies to whine and stir, but the sorcerer just smiles down at them, and raises his arms in a flourish, adding more sparks to hover with the others, and he maybe shouldn't have done that because now he’s slightly light headed and he has to blink rapidly to rid himself of the blurry spots that move around in his line of vision. Lydia frowns and holds two fingers just under Stiles’ ribcage, right where she knows he feels his magic the strongest, knows that that’s where he feels his magic channel everywhere else in his body, and Stiles inhales deeply, feeling the lose strands of his spark tighten once again, and he opens his eyes and smiles softly at his best friend (Scott’s his best friend but Lydia knows shit he doesn’t so she’s his _best_ friend).

“Thank you,” he whispers to her, putting her hand on his heart and Lydia does the same to him. Lydia nods and they feel each other’s heart slow, and it’s kind of sacred what they’re doing because it was always the way their pack showed deep gratitude, something they have seen Derek do to Stiles once, right after the ruckus with the darach and the alpha pack in the hospital.

The others stare at them weirdly, especially the Hale siblings because hey we do that, and Stiles and Lydia stand together, their backs towards the trees, fronts towards Hale pack, Talia walking towards them slowly, not in caution, but in curiosity, and the two ten year olds smirk, grabbing each other’s hand and pushing their magic towards each other, Stiles’ to Lydia’s, Lydia’s to Stiles’, and their eyes glow that vibrant pure golden, leaning their bodies together so they won’t fall or faint for this surprise they’re holding for everyone, and they tip their heads back and let out a howl, so full of life and so _wolf-like_ that it leaves everyone hanging onto the question as to where these two fourth graders, whom haven't been included into the supernatural long enough for them to know things like this, learned to howl like that?

When they howl, they howl so long and with so much emotion, that Talia hears the note of pain and strife and she shifts into her alpha form, large paws digging into the ground as she, too, tips her head back towards the sky and howls with them.

Every one of the Hales stand up at once and the werewolves are immediately in their beta shifts, claws and teeth out, and they and the Hale humans join their alpha in her cry.

John, Melissa, Isaac, and Scott are staring in awe and they’re shocked because Stiles and Lydia started this, and the wolves went along with it, and wow, their eyes _glowed_.

Stiles and Lydia keep their eyes on the Hale alpha and they signal to her with just their eyes and the alpha, in all her wolfy glory, give them the slightest of nods before the two magic welders are shooting into the tree line, throwing their hands up left and right as they leave traces of their sparks everywhere, zigzagging through the trees as they hear the growls and padded footsteps of the running wolves behind them, and Stiles and Lydia are _so_ happy that all that running away and towards danger helped them with their cardio and coordination.

When they’re far ahead enough that the running behind them turn to just whispers, Stiles crouches down and hoists Lydia up onto a high branch and they keep scaling the tree until they’re a good hundred feet up, far enough from werewolf hearing, hidden by the foliage and they can see a good portion of the forest. They turn to each other and chuckle breathily before resting against each other above the trees.

“Your eyes are still glowing,” Lydia gasps with a smile, her eyes now back to their normal shade. Stiles blinks and raises an eyebrow at her, but she shakes her head and Stiles knows what she means because he can still feel the electricity thrumming under his skin.

“When was the last time we had an actual moon run, Stiles?” Lydia ponders, resting her head back against the tree trunk, ignoring the wolves scampering around below their feet unknowingly.

Stiles looks up at the clear sky and stares at the stars as he tries to think. He shrugs in response, shoulder brushing against Lydia’s and he lets out a breath, one leg dangling over the branch and he looks down momentarily to see a few of the Hale betas sniffing around the base of the tree, tipping their heads back and howling, so Stiles guesses they finally caught his and Lydia’s scent

“Hm, I think it was February, four months before, yaknow…”

“Yeah,” Lydia answers quietly and she scoffs humorlessly.

“That was when we ran to the lake, didn’t we?” The corner of Stiles’ mouths curl up and he sighs happily, reminiscing.

“Yeah, and everyone was trying to outdo Derek’s perfect swan dive.”

Lydia twists her body to face him and she’s laughing, hand motioning everywhere.

“You totally enjoyed that! You know you were just happy you got to see Derek wet and shirtless!” she accuses him, and Stiles gasps in mock.

“We always see him wet and shirtless!”

“Not dripping in actual beads of water! If he’s shirtless and wet, then it’s mostly sweat and you _very_ much enjoyed looking at his happy trail,” Lydia cocks an eyebrow at him and she’s _smirking_ , the bastard.

“He has an impressive v-line, okay?”

“But you don’t deny it!” Lydia points at him, as if she was just figuring out a revelation and Stiles throws his arms up in surrender.

“Guilty as charged.”

Lydia shoves lightly at him, enough to startle him but not enough to topple him, but it does enough damage as Stiles flails his arm and manages to cut his forearm on one of the branches. Stiles looks, for all the world bored, at his gushing wound.

“Well, that’s disgusting,” he mutters, and he and Lydia share a look expressive enough for each of them to communicate and Lydia starts her climb down.

Stiles follows carefully, thankful for the darkness for covering the obviousness of his very large cut. He jumps when he’s a good few feet away from the ground and he dusts off his jeans, looking up to see Lydia on Mrs. Hale’s back as she’s still in her full shift, and the alpha steps closer and sniffs at his arm and she bares her teeth, not in a growl but more like a grimace, and she bumps his head because she’s taller than Stiles’ fourth grade stature as a wolf, and he climbs up on her back, Lydia scooting back so she wraps her small arms around his waist as Talia runs through the trees all the way back to the Hale’s backyard of their rented home.

The Hale children are already there and the werewolves have already shifted back to their human sides, and Derek’s the first to notice his alpha and two small children on her back and it doesn't even take him a second before he deduces that Stiles’ is injured and Derek growls softly, a rumble in his chest and Jake elbows him a little too hard in the ribs before a large first aid kit is being shoved in his arms and where did that even come from?

Lydia and Stiles step off Mrs. Hale’s back and Laura’s already running to her with clothes, and Stiles hears the _popcracksnap_ of her bones shifting back together and he shudders, walking towards the others with Lydia, coming to stand in front of Derek’s frozen, blinking form. Stiles says nothing as he opens the first aid kit and shoves it back in Derek’s hold before shoving his arm in the werewolf’s vicinity. Derek looks down at the small arm silently then looks at Stiles directly in the eyes with a raised eyebrow. Stiles doesn’t say anything- just nods his head towards the kit and Derek, tight lips and rosy cheeks, nods in response as he takes a seat on the porch steps, Stiles on the step below him, bleeding arm on the teen’s lap.

Lydia smirks, and she’s screaming happily inside because everyone’s still staring at Stiles and Derek wondering what the hell just happened and she’s just there- watching in glee.

She knew Stiles and Derek always had that unspoken connection, totally different from hers and Stiles’ because while they were tethered because both of their individual sparks were anchored to each other, Stiles and Derek were connected because, well, that’s just how it was- even before; StilesandDerek, DerekandStiles.

Lydia walked over to the others and sat herself down next to Scott, grabbing his drink from his hands just as he was about to sip, Scott pouting and sticking his tongue out at her, Lydia scrunching her face in response. The boy just rolled his eyes and went back to conversing with Isaac and Cora.

Stiles occupied the empty space next to Lydia with a newly bandaged arm and Lydia rose an eyebrow at him, straw still in her mouth as she sipped on Scott’s lemonade. “Don’t say anything,” Stiles flushed, narrowing his eyes at Lydia. She doesn’t but she still sends a cheeky smile his way before tuning into the argument brewing up between Isaac, Scott, Cora, and Celeste.

.0o0o0.

“I don’t want to move to New York!”

Stiles jumps, startled, but Celeste doesn’t seem fazed at all as she throws her books in front of her and bangs her head against the table.

He looks around him and the librarian is none too pleased with the ruckus Celeste was causing as she continued with her whining. He shoves a book to where her head was supposed to hit the table, again, and she looks up at him with an unamused look.

“Let me complain,” she seethes.

“You can complain outside, not in the school library,” Stiles tells her before going back to his homework. The older girl sinks in her seat and places a book atop her head, and Stiles looks back at her before sighing and stuffing his stuff haphazardly in his bag before gesturing for Celeste to follow him. She smiles in victory and skips outside with him.

Stiles settles in the shade of the tree that he and Derek sat atop off not too long ago and gestures for her to take a seat.

“Now you can complain,” he tells her, and she takes a deep breath.

“Mom said that Aunty Tally said that we can’t stay here, especially after what happened, and she says that Derek’s emotionally incapable of a lot of things because one, he’s still in a lot of trouble, and two, he’s in trouble because he knew the hunter that set the house on fire and Aunty Tally said that us kids need to have a healthy, stable environment to finish schooling and by stable I know she means in a place where we won’t have to be constantly reminded that we almost died because although the house is kind of rebuilt and livable and that we're still in a rented home, Derek’s kind of walking on his tip toes around us and it’s kind of bad.

“So now they want to move the whole family to New York, even dad who’s comatose, and it’s a werewolf thing I guess that they need to get dad out of here because he might go feral if he wakes up and realizes that he’s still here, where we all almost died, so we’re bringing him to New York via plane transport, but I don’t want to move because you guys are my new best friends and I’m human but I’m surrounded by freakin’ werewolves so imagine the joy of being cooped up in a tight, urban area with a bunch of shapeshifters.”

Stiles blinks at her while she takes a breath but Stiles has so many questions.

“If you’re leaving to New York, who’s going to protect the territory? And Talia’s alpha so wouldn’t you be approaching another pack’s territory?”

“We’re leaving the territory to you guys. Your dad’s in the know so he’ll help and Deaton says that Hale territory is ours by magic, so I think the whole magic and ley line thing is up for you to fix and stuff, and we’re moving to Hale territory, too. The Hales migrated from New York a long, long time ago and I guess blood ties and stuff had kept it our territory so we’re still going to be in our territory but not just, yaknow, Beacon Hills Hale territory.”

Stiles nods and they settle into a silence, Stiles panicking inwardly as now he has to fix some things in his save-the-pack plan, seeing as he had not anticipated the Hales moving to New York at _all._

“How long are you staying in New York?”

Celeste shrugs, and purses her lips. “I heard a few years.”

Stiles’ eyes widens and he thinks he’s about to go into cardiac arrest. What the hell is he and Lydia supposed to do for that whole time? He figures that, of course, he’ll be sticking into recruiting the rest of the pack in but how can they do that with _no alpha_?

“Mom figures that by the time we get back you’ll have already controlled your spark and all of us are capable of not having nightmares, or in Derek’s case, emotional baggage.”

“You know he’s still going to have emotional baggage,” Stiles mutters and Celeste scoffs, nodding her head in agreement.

.0o0o0.

Stiles walks in the hospital, trying to remember where Peter’s room was when he turns the corner and bumps into Erica in all her glory in a hospital gown and hair hanging down in limp waves.

“Oh he- he-ey, Erica!”

The blonde looks at him and sniffles, eyebrows furrowed in confusion and Stiles’ heart aches, pack bond tightening in the way that it’s reassuring, but it’s also heartbreaking because all the guilt from before resurfaces and he sure as hell doesn’t want Erica to hate him, to know that he can help her but doesn’t.

“Hey, Stiles,” she answers softly, looking around in a panic, and Stiles knows she ran away from the confines of her room. If Stiles remembers correctly, this was around the time she had her first major seizure and her parents had basically put her on house arrest and she would be absent from school for a good chunk of August.

School had already gotten out and the Hales were planning to leave at the start of June, and Stiles was already having separation anxiety from the Hales (he wouldn’t admit it but Lydia and Scott know that it’s Derek he’d be missing the most).

“How are you?” Stiles asks, with just the right amount of concern and gentleness and Erica shoots her head up and Stiles knows she’s skeptical.

“Why are you talking to me?” she mutters out instead. Stiles just smiles and pulls the equally small girl into a hug, her arms hesitating before slowly reciprocating.

“We all need friends Erica, and so I thought I’d befriend you, not in pity but because I really wanna be your friend. Took me a while but it was because I was thinking of a way to approach you without being too straightforward and-“

Erica giggles in response and looks at him with a genuine smile.

“Okay. We can be friends.”

Stiles gives himself a mental high five.

“Okay so first order of friendship, you’re getting out tomorrow right?” she scuffles her feet but nods.

“Me, Lydia, Scott, Isaac, and a few of the Hale kids are having a Disney marathon tomorrow at my place. Just come by around noon and you’ll be taken right in!”

“You’re friends with the Hales and Lydia Martin?” her eyes widen in awe and Stiles can practically see the gears turning in her head and the negative thoughts causing the frown on her face.

“Lydia and I kinda saved the Hales from dying and we just sort of came close and don’t worry, they’re chill. They’re not mean and they surely won’t judge you.”

Erica nods, an air of wariness still around her but Stiles was willing to accept that. His small tight knit group of friends did seem a little intimidating if he thought about it.

“I’ll come by tomorrow for that then but I gotta get back. Thanks, Stiles,” she mumbles, a blush coming on her cheeks, and Stiles is grinning so wide his mouth hurts.

“Anything for a friend.”

He gives her one last tight hug before he skips down the hallway for what he came into the hospital for anyway.

He had to feed a little of his pack magic into Peter just to make sure he won’t go murdering people upon waking up just like last time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> not my best chapter but it's a filler chapter because school's coming up and I'm coming out with a new fic. The next few chapters are longer and more action filled and will have some very drastic timeskips so they will take longer before they're up.


	7. Chapter 7

Stiles wakes up groggy and unaware and it’s three in the damn morning and there is a small girl sitting on his legs, filing her nails.

“Lyds, when I said I would give you the key to my house, I didn’t mean you could wake me up at this ungodly hour,” he groaned, throwing an arm over his eyes, trying to shift his feet under the small girl’s body before they went numb.

“I didn’t use your key,” Lydia nods her head towards his window, “I climbed in through the window.”

Stiles peeks up from under his arm and narrows his eyes at her, and he starts to question the boundaries of their friendship.

“Lydia, sweet Lydia, I love you, I really do, like you’re my pack sister and my partner in crime but for fuck’s sake, why are you here?”

Lydia shrugs and throws the nail file over her shoulder, getting off of Stiles’ legs and making her way to his side and throwing the duvet over her small body, cuddling herself into him.

“I just wanted to cuddle,” Stiles hears her mumble. Half of her face is buried deep into one of his pillows, nose pressed against the cushion, most of the duvet wrapped around her form, leaving Stiles with a leg and an arm hanging right out in the open cold of his room.

Stiles whines and squeaks for Lydia to give him some of his covers back but she’s persistent and they kick at each other and argue through pointless sounds and grunts until the both of them are equally under the blankets, Lydia’s head leaning against Stiles’, their limbs tangled together in a poor attempt to get warmer, and Stiles has a mouthful of her hair in his mouth.

He’d have to talk to his dad about the air conditioning in the morning.

“You don’t have to lie to me,” Stiles tells Lydia, his chin resting on her head.

“I’m not lying.”

“But you’re not telling me the whole truth.” Silence follows and both of their shallow breaths are the only noises that reach their ears.

“They’re on the other side of the country and we need them,” Lydia finally answers, voice shaky. Stiles understands the weight of her statement.

The Hales have been gone for a few weeks now, July just turning up around the corner and Stiles and Lydia have been trying their best to bring everyone in without a werewolf pack for them to integrate the others into, which felt weird and outright wrong. Stiles, Lydia, even Scott and Isaac, still hung out regularly but without the Hales to glue them together, they were awkward around each other. They had some fun times overall, without the Hales, but every once in a while, they’d say or do something and they would sigh, and stay quiet before snapping back into reality. Even Erica, who had known the Hales for a week at most, had to admit that she was missing the mess that was Celeste, Cora, Ben, and Laura. Jake and Derek were tamer, but were still being missed nonetheless.

Stiles and Lydia had to admit that there was progress. Slow it might have been, but still progress. Erica was being invited over almost every day since the Hales left, no matter whether it was Lydia, or Stiles, or Scott, she was invited but all of them would turn up anyways.

Isaac, too, became a permanent fixture in their lives. Stiles and Lydia took note that his older brother, Camden, was still around and they were constantly monitoring him and their father so they could save Isaac, if ever need be, before it’s too late.

“We can do this without them, Lyds,” Stiles reassured the younger girl, running his fingers through her silky locks.

“But we don’t know how to. Last time, we had Derek. Shitty alpha, but he brought us all together when we couldn't before he came back.” Stiles scoffed and tried not to laugh.

“We were fighting for our lives, of course he brought us together. We were a bunch of misfits who tried too hard to be something we weren’t and just happened to be sucked into a world of werewolves and kanimas and time travel and when did our life ever become a Doctor Who episode?” Lydia nudged her head upwards, causing Stiles to bite down on his own tongue.

“Shut up. I know we weren’t exactly the best pack out there but we made a home. A little too late, I admit, but the pack made me feel safe- don't laugh, it’s ironic but it’s true- and I knew that with you guys, I could be myself. And now they’re gone and I don’t know what to do.”

Stiles could hear the tears in her voice, and he took it upon himself to embrace Lydia tighter, if even possible at that point, and press his lips to her forehead in the comfort of a best friend, not a lover. He doesn’t think of her that way anymore.

“They will never be the pack members we knew but they’re still them, Lydia, and even with the new changes and circumstances we’re going to have to deal with, we’re still going to have them as pack members because we don’t need Derek or an alpha to bring them in. Our bonds are still pretty strong so I know they’re not going to leave us soon or vanish out of existence,” Stiles’ voice cracked and his eyes stung at the thought of Malia. “We’re going to get them back. No matter what happens.”

Lydia nods against his neck and they take a few deep, teary breaths before fully relaxing in each other’s hold and Stiles’ snorts out of nowhere, Lydia lifting her head up to look at him with an eyebrow quirked in curiosity.

“What are you thinking about, now?” she asks, eyes narrowed as if she knew exactly what Stiles’ was thinking.

“How much of an asshole would Jackson be if you invited him to finally hang out and mention Scott and me?”

Lydia let out her own snort, corners of her lips turning up.

“So much of an asshole that crap would start coming out of his mouth.”

.0o0o0.

By the time the back to school commercials were making its way on every social platform, Stiles and Lydia had gathered a sturdy enough foundation for what would be their pack.

Scott and Erica made a great show when opposing each other playing Resident Evil.

Isaac and Stiles stress baked together and once left 120 cupcakes in their path of destruction.

Erica and Lydia were total history nerds.

Isaac and Scott bonded, weirdly enough, by comparing what they had seen and learned from the Hales’ werewolf history to modern culture werewolf movie and literature.

Stiles and Erica loved to argue about comic books.

Lydia and Isaac almost slaughtered each other during a game of go fish.

They were becoming close, starting to trust each other, and Stiles would be lying if he said he wasn’t excited to find out how their dynamics would be like when they’re back in the school setting.

Stiles and Lydia kept up their schedule of training their magic and telepathic connection in that open space in the preserve, and so far there were no repeats of what had happened that first time.

“Stiles, I know I say this every Saturday since that flashback, but if anything happens like that again, I want you to open your eyes and sever the connection.”

Stiles huffed, dusting off his knees before sitting criss-cross down on the dirt, Lydia staring him down seriously.

“You know I will, and so far nothing has come close to happening last time, so chill a bit, would ya?” She narrows her eyes so dangerously at him and it makes him a swallow a bit.

“You’re going to get brain damage and I’m going to have to do the pack resurrection by myself while your careless, immeasurably stubborn ass is stuck in Eichen.”

Stiles waves her words off with a click of his tongue and proceeds to close the mountain barrier behind him. “You’re being dramatic, Martin, now let’s get on with it.”

Lydia still has her eyes narrowed at him and her cheeks puffed in frustration but she compels anyway and sits in front of him like usual, but not before flicking his nose with her manicured fingers.

Stiles flinches, rubbing his sore nose and giving his pack sister an equally dead glare.

“Don’t tell me what to do, Stilinski. Stop being a big baby and let’s start this. The faster we finish, the faster we could get back and watch Danny Phantom with the others.”

Stiles rolls his eyes, but deep down he knows he can’t resist the cartoon series either, and takes Lydia’s hands in his and they breathe simultaneously, feeling both of their magic tangle with one another.

Lydia’s small banshee spark is submissive to Stiles’ dominant sole spark and they weave together in their veins, grasping onto the tendrils of their connection and the tattered remnants of their pack bonds, strengthening those who are already integrated, such as Scott, Isaac, and Erica, and helping withhold those who are yet to be such as Jackson, Danny, and Boyd.

Their skin is tingly with the magic, and it’s refreshing this time, instead of the usual painful, migraine-like side effects the practice usually brought. Stiles smiles to himself as he breathes easily, willing himself to open up his mind to Lydia.

There’s a sudden rush of magic and Stiles sees the gold flow in front of his closed eyelids like electricity and he gasps, and the last thing he sees is Lydia’s eyes wide in their beta shift.

.0o0o0.

_Stiles shakes his head and sits up, looking around him to see all white walls and tiles, and he’s pretty sure he’s in the same subconscious setting as when he, Scott, and Allison tried to find the nemeton._

_Lydia groans beside him and he widens his eyes as he sees her 18-year-old self and not her 10-year-old form and he figures it’s the same with him as she, too, looks at him with wide eyes and a gaping mouth._

_He looks down at himself and notices his bruises and dried blood on his arms, and he’s so out of it and confused and he hates this so much._

_“Lydia, what’s happening? And why are we back in our 18-year-old bodies?”_

_Lydia stands up, smoothing her dress, her lower lip is trembling, and she shoves herself into Stiles’ arms, hands grasping at his faces, prodding at it with such a confused look._

_“I don’t know and I know I don’t like it.”_

_They stand shoulder to shoulder, hands intertwined, and face towards the middle of the room, eyes roaming around to see anything out of the ordinary, as if being in a white room in their subconscious isn’t out of the ordinary enough. They simultaneously take a step forward, alert and guarded, and they keep walking until out of nowhere, they’re shrouded in darkness, backs together as they figure out where they had just transported to._

_Stiles can see the faint shadows of pillars and stairs with the little moonlight he’s given, and he pulls Lydia behind him with a hand outstretched. His fingers touch wood, burnt wood, and he rubs his fingers together and it’s ashy and dusty and his head turns right to see a door, hands reaching out once again to turn the knob, and he and Lydia are faced with the woods, the obvious outlines of a car a good 5 yards from them, shuffling noises coming from their right._

_“Stiles, where are we?” Lydia whispers, turning her head towards the open forest and back to the door, heart starting to race when she realizes they’re at the Hale house._

_Lydia walks behind Stiles, their hands still interlocked and she peers over his shoulder when they stop at the edge of the house to see two figures digging up a hole. Stiles is frozen beside Lydia, and she gasps when she recognizes the floppy hair and buzzed head._

_“Stiles, what the hell?” she murmurs through gritted teeth and Stiles shushes her as she listens to the conversion he so vaguely remembers having._

_It’s a weird feeling watching his 16-year-old self and 16-year-old Scott dig Laura’s grave, again, and his stomach clenches in nervousness and he wants to cringe badly because wow, was 2011 even real?_

_Stiles sees a slight shadow of headlights behind the trees, and its coming quickly, so he makes haste of pulling Lydia back inside the house, behind the wall but close to the broken, burnt windows so he can still hear and see what’s happening._

_Lydia has a hand over her mouth, eyes shut tightly, her back to Stiles’ chest. Stiles’ heart is pounding against his ribcage violently, as he tries to keep quiet and peer out the window, just as Derek was getting out of the car, and for some reason, it makes Stiles want to laugh because he doesn't remember seeing Derek so constipated. And then it makes him want to cry because he doesn’t remember because he never paid attention to Derek before because he and Scott back then, he realized, only focused on saving their own asses and ignoring Derek, who tried so hard to keep them safe and together and a unit as a pack, and Stiles feels like shit now._

_Stiles makes the mistake of looking out the window the same time Derek looks into the window from his spot in front of the house and Stiles panics when Lydia jabs him in the rib and he looks over to where she’s pointing._

_He squints and sees that there’s light shining from that certain doorway, just barely, and he takes the chance of dragging Lydia to hide in that room before fever-dream-Derek catches up to them._

_They’re engulfed in a familiar room, so white and full of light, like the train station scene from the last Harry Potter film. Stiles looks around and sees the faint outlines of kitchenware slowly come to life, laughter and soft voices making its way around them, surrounding them. Lydia gasped tearily as she and Stiles watched figures walk around, like ghosts in front of them, and Stiles can trace the curves and lines of each figure, his heart clenching in pain and reminiscence._

_“Your eighteenth birthday,” Lydia wheezes airily, choking on a sob behind her hand and watches Erica run around the breakfast island chasing Stiles, all laughter and a red face, with a pie in hand while the rest of the pack watched in giggles, even Derek who stood at the stove flipping pancakes with a large grin and crinkled eyes._

_“Stilinski, it’s your birthday gift!” Stiles and Lydia turned to Jackson who had failed to conceal his amusement, and Stiles can literally hear Lydia’s heart break._

_It’s the other Stiles who pipes up next ,“You’re a rude man, Whittemore, a rude man!”  and he can feel the phantom weight of the whipped-cream smash against his face._

_Boisterous laughter and giggles ring through both Stiles’ and Lydia’s ears, mocking them, as their view starts to get shrouded by darkness and they’re left facing an endless room of shadows, a lone light shining on them like a cliche._

_“Derek, please!”_

_“Lydia!”_

_“No, no, no,” Lydia mutters, holding her hands to her ears as she tries to block out the sounds of her pack screaming, Stiles crumpled on the ground next to her, hands to his ears._

_“Scott, don’t!”_

_“You’re not real,” Lydia mumbles to herself like a mantra._

_“Erica, stop!”_

_“Jackson, don’t let me go!”_

_“YOU’RE NOT REAL!” Lydia screams into the darkness the same moment her banshee scream rings from the shadows, and Stiles hears his ears pop and an invisible shatter before his eyes open._

.0o0o0.

Lydia takes a deep breath when her eyes open, as if she was deeply deprived of oxygen, hands clammy holding onto Stiles’ who’s huffing silently in front of her, his sparks jumping against his skin, beads of sweat rolling down his forehead, cheeks flushed.

“Hey, hey, are you okay?” Lydia asks Stiles, her own chest heaving up and down as she tries to get back some oxygen into her lungs. She rests her hand on Stiles’ biceps, flinching when she feels the warmth of the electricity zap her.

He groans, falling on his back and throws an arm over his eyes, Lydia on her knees staring at him in confusion.

“Why can’t we just have one happy memory with a peaceful end?” Stiles whines, chuckling humorlessly. Lydia rolls her eyes and stands up, dusting the dirt off her dress before walking to where they set their stuff.

“That’d would take a miracle, but in our favor, those never come along. So, we’re done here and let’s go home. Erica probably already ate the whole tub of ice cream and is probably watching The Princess Bride without us.”

.0o0o0.

The Hales have been gone for seven months.

No calls, no letters, nothing. It had seemed that they’ve decided that for the meantime, the lycan family would have no contact whatsoever with the town that had almost wiped them out, and Stiles understands that because he admits that he’d do the same, but it still hurts.

Stiles and Lydia brought the others closer than they were, and Boyd was a definite, permanent addition. Lydia had finally, over Thanksgiving break, brought Danny and Jackson into the circle and Danny was eager and nice of course, but Jackson, as always, was reluctant and snarky, but Stiles knew how to deal with him so now Jackson wasn’t as mean and asshole-ish as he had been. They weren’t permanent as far as Stiles could see, yet, but they were edging around the circle and if Lydia kept up with bringing them to the casual hangouts and study groups they often have once or twice a week then they’d be accepted in without a spare glance.

2006 was just a week away, and Stiles was alone with Scott and Isaac for the New Year.

Lydia, Jackson, and Danny were out of state, and Erica and Boyd were off celebrating with their own families, much to Erica’s dismay mostly. It seemed that Isaac spent more time with Stiles and Scott more than his own family. Camden was still around, and if Stiles remembered correctly, at least for a few more weeks at least.  Camden would leave in the middle of the night to San Diego where the army was recruiting and he would be accepted and Isaac would keep quiet around his father who will start drinking and eventually host that party for the swim team that Matt Daehler would attend and almost drown. Then a few weeks after the party, the beatings would start.

Watching him play checkers with Scott now from his spot on the bed, Stiles worries. He eyes little 11-year-old Isaac Lahey, with his floppy blond hair and missing front tooth, cherubic cheeks a rosy pink, and baby blue eyes shy and bright, and Stiles never, ever again wants them to dull.

And Scott, Stiles’ noticed, seemed to look like he carries the weight of the world on his shoulders, even at the tender age of 10, and it’s weird because Stiles can see the subtle tension in Scott’s shoulders and the slight clench in his uneven jaw but there’s nothing for him to worry about as far as Stiles can guess.

Scott’s dad up and left him and Melissa (the bastard- Stiles will kick him in the gonads the next time he comes around) in the middle of the night. No interaction between them since then, except the monthly envelopes for child support. It’s been a few years since then so Stiles knows Scott should be somewhat over it by now, from his knowledge of how kids’ brains work anyway, but he’s stricken with shock and a little bit of pity when he realizes that maybe Scott is starting to become aware and ask questions as to why Rafael McCall had left them. It was starting around to be the time puberty started knocking on all their doors, Stiles the same as he remembers from his previous timeline that the upcoming year would be him pondering endlessly if it was his fault his mom had died.

You really can’t just change a child’s mind sometimes.

.0o0o0.

The August of 2007, the group’s sixth grade year, Scott follows Stiles into the preserve a couple weekends before school starts and it’s the first time they’ve seen the rebuilt Hale house exactly 26 months after the Hales have left for New York.

Stiles stands shock-still, the house more intimidating than the one that stood in its place just over two years ago and he wonders if the Hales even know what the house looks like, but from the looks of the dust on the front porch and window sills, no one’s been tending to the new-ish home. Scott runs up to the porch and peeks in through the window and coughs from inhaling the dust and Stiles snorts.

“It’s a shame no one’s been in here,” Stiles mumbles, raising an eyebrow at the other boy and Scott’s eyes widen when he notices the familiar gleam in his best friend’s eyes then proceeds to shake his head. “Stiles, we’re not breaking in.” Stiles scoffs in response, fishing out the flashlight in his pocket and shining it through the door window.

“Technically, it’s not breaking in if no one’s living here. Besides, I don’t think the Hales will mind. Much. Oh, look! It’s unlocked,” Stiles jiggles the doorknob a bit before strewing his eyebrows together, “They should’ve locked it. Some hobo could’ve gotten in.” Scott groans in protest but steps into the house after Stiles, who flicks the light switches and mumbles to himself before tucking the flashlight back into his pockets. He straightens his back and closes his eyes, arms out in front of him and Scott knows the beginning of a spell so he inches farther from Stiles a bit and he hears him mutter, almost incoherently, a foreign language Scott doesn’t recognize but as Stiles does so, his palms begin to glow and a stream of light swirls around them in a river-like manner, smooth and at a reasonable pace.

Stiles ends his muttering and the river of magic disappears suddenly and Scott doesn’t know what the hell he did until Stiles flicks the light switch once more but this time, the chandelier in the entry hall lights up. Scott’s jaw drops and he whips his head towards Stiles who just sends him a wide grin in response. “Come on. Let’s check the whole place out.”

The two boys tour the home and it seems that Stiles had magicked the whole house into having an electrical system.

Stiles wanders left into the first opening in the entry hall and finds himself in the dining room, where there is a large dining table settled perfectly in the middle, big enough to sit at least 18, with a reasonably-sized chandelier hanging from the ceiling and two windows- one spanning the whole wall looking out into the front yard and one behind the head of the table, giving a tease of the backyard.

He turns right into the kitchen, which is already stocked up with all the needed appliances (as it seems the whole house was all-new furniture included), and he feels his heart clench. It looked so eerily alike with the kitchen the pack, the old version, had, the one he spent his last birthday in before throwing himself into the space-time continuum with Lydia.

The fridge is the same chunky piece of metal that Jackson had told Derek to get, the breakfast bar countertop was the same granite countertop Erica and Lydia had pressured Derek to replace the older top with, the cabinets were the same cabinets Scott had almost burnt down in his attempt to bake Derek a cake. Everything was the same and Stiles doesn’t know if its deja vu or some weird real life foreshadowing.

“You okay, man?” Scott asks, frowning, placing a hand on Stiles’ shoulder and Stiles huffs, blocking the tears threatening to spill out of his eyes.

“I’m great, honestly.”

Scott looks dubious at his statement but leaves it be, then Stiles turns towards him with the biggest shit-eating smile ever and the inevitable ‘uh-oh’ rings in Scott’s head.

“I think we’re going to have a great time here, Scotty.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is the product of editing and adding on at 2 am but anyways, sorry for the long wait for such a short-ish chapter! i _was_ going to post two chapters on the same day but i decided that you guys have waited long enough but with school and AP classes it's been hell so here's a chapter for you guys! i'm halfway done with ch 8 (hence the decision to post two chapters for the update) so it should be up soon! and don't forget to follow my twitter @_choncena (if u wanna) for chapter update information and/or if you have any questions as i would prefer to answer them on that platform. just comment if you followed and your twitter username and i'll follow back!


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy new year my loves! i hope all of you had a wonderful holiday break for those of you going back to school and those who are still on break. here's an update for you to start the year off with! (even though it's been 5 days into 2017 lmao rip) also, don't forget to follow my twitter @_choncena if you have questions/concerns or simply want to know where this story is headed!

_December 2011_

His breathing is heavy, lungs burning from the rush of the run, moonlight gleaming off sweaty skin. His muscles are twisting, turning, clenching as he strains to outrun the wolves howling at his behind. 

He’s laughing darkly, fingers hurting to release the magic he’s withheld for so long, the pull of the moon and stars tugging at the sparks that run through his blood, wrapping themselves around every vein and artery. The sounds of the heavy pitter-pats of the wolves near him and he throws his hand back without turning his head, smirking to himself when he hears the screech of frozen paws against mud is accompanied by low growls and whimpers.

He can feel the warmth of a wolf closing in and he sprints faster, turning his head right to shoot a wide-toothed grin at the ash blond wolf. 

Ahead of them is a clearing and they run faster, faster, faster, the trees blurring beside them from their peripheral. 

There’s a sudden squish of heels into dirt and soil and he trips and flips over himself, landing a few feet ahead of the wolf, legs spread out in front of him.

Lydia has her hand on her cocked hip and she clicks the stopwatch, tutting as she frowns down at the boy in front of her.

“Seven, forty-five, thirteen. You didn’t beat your time.”  She holds her hand out for him to take, Jackson shaking his fur and glaring at Stiles before getting up.

Stiles smirks and takes her outreached hand, dusting off his jeans and watching as the other wolves make their way into the clearing, stumbling over each other as they go. The snapping and creaking of bones accompanied by the sudden outburst of voices and groaning fills the clearing as both magic users turn towards their rag tag group of just-turned humans.

“Stiles, you almost made me sprain my fucking legs!” Scott accuses with an indignant pout and Stiles sniffles his giggles as he notices Scott’s hair standing up every which way with dirt and mud in it, some smudged on his face and torso, and Stiles tries to deny the fact that he doesn’t look any more puppy like than he does. “Sorry, Scotty,” Stiles answers with an upturned corner of his lips, shrugging a bare shoulder nonchalantly and Scott sticks his tongue out before tugging his shirt on. 

There’s a sudden rustling in the hedges and Danny comes out behind the foliage, looking as calm as ever although he’s sweating and Stiles sends him a smug smile. “Hey, Danny boy.”

The older boy just sends him a narrowed glare in response before plopping himself down on the cold dirt. 

Jackson, the asshole, is still in his wolf form, trotting around the rest of the pack as they stumble to get clothes on and Lydia whacks him with the string of her stopwatch and the ash-blond wolf looks back at her and chuffs before setting his wolf butt down on his best friend’s stomach.

“Erica! Get your boobs outta my face!” Isaac yells and Stiles sees Boyd, as unperturbed as usual, raise an eyebrow at the scene before him before going back to tie his shoes.

“Suck on my tits, Lahey,” Erica retorts seriously and Stiles barks out a laugh at the sudden rosiness of Isaac’s cheeks, watching him shove her off. 

“I have a boyfriend,” the taller blond squeaks out jokingly before hiding behind Stiles who’s bending over his knees in laughter. Erica turns up her nose, shrugging her sweater on and fixing her hair. 

They’re a mess.

Stiles shakes his head before he walks over to Lydia and they stand in front of each other, like they did the day Isaac and Scott first found out about lycanthropy, and the wolves around them immediately stand attention, coming closer to the two magic users with their beta eyes glowing bright. 

The nemeton stands healthy in growth behind them, magic and love vibrating off the bark, flushing out the toxic and poison its been fed before Stiles and Lydia brought together the start of their pack and Stiles was nearly sacrificed in order to save the town.

It’s been a rough five or so years.

The spark and the banshee press their hands over each other’s hearts and _push_ , the familiar rush of hot-charged electricity flowing to their fingertips and penetrating the layers of skin to reach the the magic source, their “magic pulse” as they like to call it. The magic grounds them to the earth and the wolves are inhaling heavy, exhaling heavy, beta eyes flashing yellow on, off, on. The nemeton emits a soft glow and suddenly it feels stuffy in the clearing, as if they were trapped in a bubble of heat and sweat and Stiles’ eyes are glowing a dangerous gold and Lydia’s is a much softer sunshine gold, hints of her banshee powers glowing orange near her irises. 

Stiles, being the stronger spark of the two, mutters the latin verses he’s memorized ages ago effortlessly and he feels the runes carved on his exposed chest and back tingle, the scars on his body closing but never really disappear. He can feel the nemeton being cleansed of its original toxicity and its refreshing for the pack as their abilities are shifted by the pull of the tree’s magic.

Where there was a cut down stump years ago was now a healthy, growing tree.

Stiles and Lydia exhale loudly when they’re finished, reigning back their magic so they can get a move on as it was a few minutes past midnight and they were all tired. Lydia nods at Stiles before turning and heading towards the pack. 

The spark watches his best friends, his wayward clique of werewolves, interact normally even under the influence of the moon high in the sky and Stiles tugs at his pack bonds, the strings vibrating in liveliness and power and the others turn to him as they felt their bonds also tighten. His grin widens and he turns back to the nemeton for a brief moment, throwing his hand back to pat the tree as a signal of some sort before bursting into the tree line hearing the betas yell offenses at his back before the familiar thuds of their footfalls fill his ears along with their howls. They’re giddy and all of them, including Lydia who was enjoying her ride on Jackson’s back, can feel the energy and power of the run in their bones. 

Stiles maneuvers his way through the trees trying to outrun the wolves, jumping over fallen trunks and dodging branches with ease like some parkour course and he feels so _alive_. 

Just when Stiles approaches the front yard of the renovated Hale house they’ve taken over thinking he’s outrun the rest of the pack, he falls face first on the dewy grass, a furry butt on his back and he has grass and dirt in his mouth and he can only see the patters of paws around him. The bark he hears from on top of him tells him it’s Erica.

“E, could you get off my back please? I have a pie in the oven and I’d rather not burn it.” The mention of food has the wolf off his back and he stands back up to see the wolves circling around Lydia on the porch like a bunch of dogs, her carrying the backpack of all their clothes as she tries to open the door. Once she opens it, the wolves all stumble each other entering the foyer just like the mutts they are, probably racing each other for the showers. Stiles closes the door behind him and follows Lydia into the kitchen where there are a bunch of food already laid out on the counter, the smell of pastries wafting through the air and the warmth surrounds them as the yellow-toned bulbs gave the kitchen a nice, heartwarming glow. Stiles pulls out the pie in the oven while Lydia heads into the dining room to set the table and he laughs at their image. “Are we playing happy family now?” he asks Lydia with crinkled eyes but she just smiles, scoffing, and rolls her eyes when she comes back for the dishes. 

“Of course we are. We’re surrounded by a bunch of toddlers and being the only humans, that gives us authority over the mutts we call our friends.” Lydia leans a hip against the counter and crosses her arms, smirking as Stiles checks on the desserts.

Stiles chuckles, silence settling upon them. Lydia wrap her arms around him from the side, her cheek against his bicep and breathes in his scent. “We did good,” she whispers to him, the corners of her lips turning up softly. Stiles rubs her shoulder, pressing his lips against her temple and smiling against the skin.

“Yeah. Yeah we did.”

.0o0o0.

A rogue alpha came by Beacon Hills during the pack’s eighth grade year. 

By then, the pack was a solid enough group of friends and ever since Stiles and Scott’s excursion years ago, Stiles had dubbed the rebuilt Hale house their hangout space and basically called it the pack’s home, much to his father’s dismay but hey, it wasn’t illegal. 

Scott was the first bitten and at first, it threw Stiles and Lydia off because he wasn’t supposed to get bitten until sophomore year but his transformation was easy as he and Isaac already knew about werewolves but bringing in the others to believe Scott was now a creature of the night wasn’t so easy.

Jackson nearly called for a restraining order when Scott shifted during an intense game of go fish. 

Then the alpha bit Jackson. Then Isaac. Then Erica. Then Boyd. 

Ironic really, Stiles had thought.

Handling five newly turned werewolves between figuring out who the rogue alpha was and having to deal with school was not easy for the humans. Danny, whose parents were gone most of the time, provided alibis. 

John Stilinski and Melissa McCall understood what was going on so Stiles needn’t worry about having to lie to where he and Scott were going five nights a week, unlike his previous timeline. 

Lydia could escape whenever she wanted to as her parents were too caught up in divorce papers then. 

And thus, the beginnings of the actual werewolf pack were born. 

Stiles taught them about anchors and control and even figured out how they could shift into their full wolf form without the abilities of an alpha with extensive experiments on the betas and research, but alas, it was done. Deaton, Stiles decided, would be kept unaware of the plans he and Lydia had for their newly turned friends until further notice despite training him with his spark. He wouldn’t be much of a help anyways, going by previous experiences.

Just before Christmas turned up, the werewolves had perfected their control and could shift into their wolf forms at any time they pleased. The rogue alpha that still had control over them, though, was of no relevance to both Stiles and Lydia anymore so they had no problem in stripping the alpha of her control over their friends, although it left mental and physical scars for all of them. As the betas no longer had an alpha, Stiles was able to absorb the rogue alpha’s magic thus making him the alpha in a way. 

At least until they could be led under an actual alpha werewolf.

Stiles, done with his training under Deaton and could now fully access his spark (earlier than he expected but Deaton had told him he showed great promise and what he’d learned and gathered from the previous timelines carried on to this one), was no longer the skinny boy the Hales have left behind.

Running with wolves regularly, plus physical training to soothe his ever-active magic, had given him strength and definition. His body was still lanky, but he was now lean and had actual _muscle_. By freshman year, instead of the buzzed haircut and lanky noodle arms, he had hair that Lydia could style as she pleased and a silhouette that his peers stared at, much to his denial. 

Lydia was more mature, although still as snarky and bitchy as she was the first time around, but this time, she had a reliable group of friends she called pack and she tapped into her intelligence and skills rather than pretend to be a trophy girlfriend and act dumb. 

And she was in control of her banshee abilities, though Deaton had assured her that there was more to be expected from her (and Stiles) but he didn’t know what.

Stiles and Lydia have changed and improved plenty: they prevented Isaac from ever being abused, having reported his father’s alcohol habits after Camden had left, leaving Isaac to be adopted into a new loving home with a family that adored him, helped Jackson tone down his attitude by encouraging him to talk to his parents about his feelings of neglect, helped Boyd find his lost sister, and watched as the bite allowed for Erica to get her life together just before high school.

They’ve definitely done more in such a short time than they have the last time.

Now, they were just waiting for the next shoe to drop.

.0o0o0.

“Stiles.”

_“Eurghhhhh.”_

“Stiles. Wake up.”

Stiles snuffles into his pillow ignoring the poking at his shoulder. Scott huffs and tugs the duvet off of Stiles. The cold air hits Stiles’ bare legs and he whines, reaching at the air for his covers. 

“Stiles get up.” Stiles turns and squints at Scott, sleep still in his eyes and his hand goes up to his hair to scratch. The tan boy is in a hoodie and flannel pajamas with his arms crossed against his torso, lips pursed in a straight line.

“I lost my shoe last night. Come help me find it,” he basically orders and Stiles _loathes_ his best friend so much. He knows the puppy face is bound to happen sooner or later so Stiles obliges begrudgingly, reaching out to his phone on his bedside table and turning it on to see the time. “Scotty, it’s nine in the morning. Are you fucking kidding me?” Stiles grumbles, getting up anyway and searching the floor for a decent pair of joggers. “Are the others up yet?”

Scott shakes his head and tosses a clean pair of joggers at his friend’s face before heading out the door. 

Stiles decides against wearing a shirt and follows Scott down the stairs and outside, closing the door behind him. As they enter the woods, Scott looks down and snorts at Stiles’ bunny slippers, which Stiles prompted to use instead of wearing actual sneakers or even flip flops. 

“Go find your shoe. Go fetch, Scotty!” Stiles teases, hopping over a fallen trunk. Scott throws his head back and glares at him before continuing his find around the area. 

 

Derek ruffles Cora’s hair as he steps down from the porch and runs into the preserve before she can bite at him, Celeste laughing beside him.

The trees around them are familiar, yet unfamiliar, as the Hales now lived in a much bigger house on the preserve, farther from their original one. The chilly autumn air nips at his skin as he runs his hands against the trees, heavy boots crunching against the leaves and moist soil and he feels safer. 

The magic, although subdued, seems lighter than it did the last time they were here and Derek breathes in, feeling the tension in his muscles loosen. 

He’s confused as to why it is though. 

They’ve been gone for six years and he’s been getting himself together, becoming a better person for his family and for himself. He’s learned to accept himself and find out what he really wants. Now at 22, he realizes it’s not his fault- not really. He was young and in pain and found refuge with a woman he thought he loved. 

Celeste walks beside him, humming quietly to herself as her long blonde hair sways to the will of the wind, a few steps ahead of her older cousin. “It feels… different now, doesn’t it?” Celeste questions, more to herself than Derek, running her hands softly over the bark of the trees. Derek grumbles as an answer, following his human cousin as she weaves her way through the trees they once lived in. 

As they walk further towards the middle of the preserve, Derek, being the werewolf of the two, smells another werewolf nearby and hears voices and he grabs Celeste’s arm and presses a finger to his mouth when she turns to him with the trademark Hale furrowed eyebrows. They walk quieter until they get to small clearing in the trees and see two boys, one shirtless and one in a hoodie, digging around the leaves. Derek’s eyes glow blue and he can feel his wolf about to pounce when he gets held back this time and Celeste steps in front of him to hear the hushed conversation.

“I’m getting mad deja vu from this,” Derek hears the shirtless and much paler boy mutter and his darker friend, the werewolf, looks up at him confusedly before going back to look. “How do you even manage to lose just _one_ shoe, Scott?”

The tanner-toned friend, Scott, huffs, “Weird things happen during the five hours we’re gone, Stiles. You’re not exactly competent with your stuff either.”

The other boy, who Derek now knows as Stiles and something rings within him but he doesn’t know what, fakes offense. Derek can’t hold himself back any longer so he steps out of hiding with his younger cousin blubbering after him and calling his name through seethed teeth. He steps into the vicinity and barely notices Celeste calling him back.

“This is private property.”

 

Stiles and Scott stand rigid, more so Stiles than Scott. The words sends a wave of familiarity and aching through him and he wants to laugh _so bad_ but this isn’t the time. He and Scott slowly turn to face the voice and Stiles wants to cry. 

Derek Hale stands there in front of them with his hands in his goddamned leather jacket and it throws him back to that first day. Derek’s expression, although stoic as it had been, doesn’t carry as much heat and Stiles mentally takes note of his calmer posture, unlike the uncomfortably tense one reality #1 Derek had. 

Stiles swallows his tears and opts for a smile instead, eyes catching a blur of long blonde hair catching up to Derek. Scott is trying so hard to hide his laughter, the corner of his lips twitching because this was Derek Hale and Scott McCall is mentally comparing the scrawny, nerdy Derek Hale from six years ago to this one and the mental image is _hilarious_.

The blonde girl eventually appears just the same distance from them, standing right beside Derek and her face is confused. She opens her mouth a bit before closing it, then it opens again and she squints her eyes more.

“Stiles?” she blurts out, eyes widening as she concentrates on Stiles and Derek’s frozen, and Stiles beams, throwing his arms open as is his typical nature.  

“Aye! Celeste, how ya doin’?” 

“Scott?” 

Scott grins widely and nods and suddenly both boys have a mouthful of blonde hair. Stiles embraces the older girl tighter and he can feel a wave of calm and relief wash over him as he feels his spark calm down and his pack bonds glow. Derek stands still a few feet in front of him and Scott, confused as hell. 

Celeste giggles when she lets go of them before turning to Derek and smiling widely, hooking her arms through Stiles and Scott’s elbows. “Derek, you remember Stiles and Scott. They saved us from the fire.”

Derek’s gaze flits from each boy, racking his brain for answers to his silent questions before he stiffens and flushes. How could he forget the small, scrawny boy that almost feel off a tree when he expressed his gratitude for saving him?

But Stiles wasn’t that boy anymore. If anything, he became more of a man than Derek did in six years. Derek takes note of the pronounced muscle and sharp jawline, contrasting from the skinny limbs and chubby face Stiles once had. He starts feeling stuffy and cramped under Stiles smug gaze, even in the open space of the woods, and his hands start to get clammy from where they are, stuffed in his pockets.

“Yeah. I remember now,” Derek all but mutters, feeling his cheeks redden, avoiding eye contact with the other two boys.

Scott sniffles a snort unsuccessfully and Stiles kicks him in the knee.

 

“Honey, I’m home!” Stiles cheers as he and Scott cross the threshold of the house, Scott shaking his head behind him as he shuts the door, throwing his shoes aside where the others have haphazardly tossed their’s, a pile they called “mount shoe-verest” thanks to Stiles and his need for puns.

“‘Bout time you both came back! We were going to eat everything without you!” both boys hear Erica yell from the kitchen.

The smell of waffles and bacon wafted through the air and Scott breathed in heavy, his mouth watering as his nose led him to the kitchen where Lydia, Danny, and Isaac were manning the stoves and ovens (yes, they had multiple) while Erica, Boyd, and Jackson devour the various stacks of pancakes and waffles and bacon that was sitting at the breakfast bar. He pouts before gathering some food for himself before they eat them all and settles himself next to Boyd, who nudges him with his elbow while sending a small smile his way as he chewed. Scott responds back with a toothy grin and a playful shoulder nudge, digging into his food excitedly.

He’s always loved Lydia’s cooking abilities with breakfast foods since he got to know her. 

Stiles dodges around the chefs taking control of the kitchen preparing some last touches and cleaning up to pour himself a mug of coffee. The pot is freshly brewed and warm and he inhales the fresh smell of the warm cup in his hands, taking a greedy gulp and feels the warm liquid go down his throat and turn on his energy, his spark heating up in his chest, giving him goosebumps.

He leans against the counter as he notices the clock border on 10:03 and Lydia’s arm is brushing against him as she hums quietly while she fixes herself a cup of tea. 

Stiles relaxes in the warmth surrounding him. The chattering of the different conversations going on around him is like white noise to him and the fresh smell of freshly cooked breakfast is satisfying. It’s awfully horrifying when Stiles realizes how dependent he is on this exact feeling of domesticity- being surrounded by people he loves and would lay his life down for, _his pack_ , interacting with each other with playful touches and soft smiles and laughter. 

It’s bittersweet, almost, how it dawns on him how much he _missed_ this. 

Not in the way that this was the norm for them since the five of them got turned and he and Lydia decided to conquer the unoccupied but fully furnished Hale house, but in the way that they could have _had_ this. 

They _did_ though, that was the thing. For a while. 

The pack- the first version- didn’t act like the family they had been when everyone died. It took a while but even then, there was only some days when everyone stayed the night and was awake when everyone else was. 

This- this was what Stiles needed. The feeling of _home_. He and Lydia never got that much the last time and he was oblivious to the fact that he needed the overbearing sappiness of domestic life like _air,_ and maybe, it was time they got that. 

Stiles brings himself out of his thoughts as Lydia shoves a plate of pancakes and bacon under his nose that has his tongue go dry and he takes it in his hand with a wide grin, kissing her on the temple before sitting down with everybody else at the breakfast nook. 

It seems that Danny and Isaac were done putting everything away as they join the conversation between the rest of them as they sit down with their own plates in hand.

“So what were you and Scott doing out?” Lydia initiates as she primly, as Lydia does, bites a pancake piece off her fork.

“He lost his shoe so we went to look for it.” Stiles jerks back a thumb at Scott, who looks up and smiles, showcasing his chewed up food. Jackson grimaces and places his hand on Scott’s mouth. “Gross, McCall, We didn’t need to see that,” he says flatly, though there’s a sparkle of amusement in his eyes. 

Scott shrugs a shoulder sheepishly before swallowing and turning to Stiles with a smirk.

“Also, guess who’s back?” Scott throws the question up in the air before shoving another forkful in his mouth. Stiles hears a soft mumble of “back again, shady’s back tell a friend” from Isaac and Erica and he almost tips his chair backwards to the brink of falling as he throws his head back in laughter. Danny catches him in time and Stiles thanks him with an extra piece of bacon and a grateful smile.

Danny takes the bacon in stride and grins widely to himself as he chomps down on it while Jackson watches him with a whine of displeasure as he calls out on the unfairness.

Erica shakes her head at him before turning to Scott and Stiles, arching an eyebrow. “Who?”

“The Hales.”

All the commotion seemed to have stopped as everyone stares at them. 

Stiles feels the shift. It wasn’t uncomfortable per say, but the many pairs of eyes boring into he and Scott’s soul in disbelief had him wiggling in his seat. He knows they’re just surprised because it’s been six years and it’s kind of standard for them to expect anyone to come back after the three year mark. With their reputation of a town anyway.

“We bumped into Derek and Celeste in the woods. Celeste knew us immediately and she’s gorgeous as always, and Derek was- well- stoic and passive, I guess? He didn’t remember who were as quickly. He just told us it was private property with a broody face and it kind of reminded me of grumpy cat,” Scott rambled. Stiles and Lydia sent a knowing look to each other and muttered “typical Derek” in exasperation. 

Jackson, who didn’t know the Hales as well but knew _of_ them, shrugs as the information didn’t hold as much relevance to him and goes back to stuffing himself with waffles, Boyd smiling at Stiles when he caught his eye before following suit. 

Erica and Isaac send soft smiles to each other while they play footsie under the table because they were hiding their shared excitement. 

“Are they going to take back the house?” Danny asks, curious, and this was why he was the most logical and level-headed one out of all of them.

Stiles shrugs but he can feel the concern vibrating off Danny’s bond and he settles it with a small wave of reassurance, although unknown for what, and the Hawaiian boy relaxes, nodding in gratitude.

“If they’d have wanted to take it back, I’d assume they’d have done it already,” Stiles states.

“They don’t smell not-Beacon Hills-y so I think they've been here a while,” Scott adds, rubbing the back of his neck, unsure of his statement.

“What do you mean?” Boyd asks, his first words ever since Stiles and Scott came back from their little walk.

“They don’t smell like tourists or strangers. Like, they’ve been gone for what- six years? They’d come back smelling like New York or wherever they went-“

“It was New York,” Isaac butts in before ducking his head as he tries to keep his laughter in.

“Yeah, that. So I mean- if they’ve been here for even a day, wouldn’t they still have been smelling like New York?”

“Does New York even have a certain smell? What does New York smell like?” Erica wonders and Stiles snorts, patting Scott’s back when he deflates, pouting at the fact no one was taking his theory seriously.

“Hot dogs and rich people,” Jackson adds in monotone and his declaration has Isaac doubling over in laughter as he does a spit-take, water spewing everywhere as he laughs. Scott looks like he wants to stomp his foot and whine like a toddler so Lydia takes the reigns.

“Guys, I think Scott’s right. They’d have a different smell if they just came back recently since they haven’t been tied to Beacon Hills in years.”

“We’re not saying he’s wrong. It’s just that he said they’d come back smelling like New York and that’s a pretty vague statement so we, yaknow, took it weirdly.” Isaac, who seemed to have calmed down enough to deliver back some of Scott’s dignity, sends Lydia a cheshire cat-like grin and folds his hands on the table. She rolls her eyes at him but she smiles to herself despite it all.

“What does Beacon Hill smell like on a person though?” Boyd muses and Stiles understands why he and Erica got along so well. 

Because underneath the quietness and intimidating front Boyd often sports, he’s just as weirdly curious as Erica and Stiles is getting a sweet tooth just thinking about it, but Isaac pulls him out of his thoughts before he does.

“If we meet a werewolf that’s not from here, do you think it’d be weird to ask them ‘hey, what do my pack and I smell like’?” 

“How would you even formulate a question for that anyway?” Jackson leans his chair back waving his fork around as he looks up at the ceiling as if it would give him answers.

“Is it a pack-scent thing?” Danny contributes, sipping on his orange juice and now Stiles is very curious because how do werewolves even know that another werewolf could or could not be from the same place they’re from, besides the human aspects of not seeing them around if they were? He sends a look to Lydia and he knows she was thinking the same thing- a new research topic on werewolf behaviors and instincts.

“Or yaknow, we _could_ just ask the Hales,” Scott trails off because the topic got everyone excited for some reason and he wouldn’t want to put a slight damper on things, although a weird topic they were arguing over. 

Stiles opens his mouth and closes it again while the others “oh” in realization. It's also a reminder that Stiles and Lydia need to talk to Deaton, with the right, proper alpha of Beacon Hills back and the fact that Stiles has alpha werewolf imbedded _in_ him, keeping control of his own werewolf pack.  

“Yeahhhhhh, that sounds like a better idea.”


	9. Chapter 9

Stiles erases his board and writes everything he knows up until this point. He starts with the date of the Hale fire on one side of the board and June 21, 2012 on the opposite side, jokingly writing ‘R.I.P.’ under the latter.

“Aren’t you an insensitive prick,” Lydia mutters behind him on his bed, more of a statement than anything. She’s on her stomach with her chin in her hands and her feet swinging back and forth.

Stiles shoots a wry smile over his shoulder before continuing to write events and connect them with badly drawn arrows. He mentions the Hales leaving, the second time Scott got bitten, the night of when the rest of their little friend group got bitten, the rogue alpha’s death, the last of his and Lydia’s training with Deaton, the day they all collectively moved into the renovated Hale home, then proceeded to write, in a different colored marker, the events on the same dates that happened in the previous timeline. The amount of question marks at the end of the statements and dates irked Lydia.

Stiles sets the markers down and steps back, taking a look of the entire board before setting himself next to Lydia and leaning back on his forearms.

They’re silent, taking in the overview of the timeline and simply thinking, until Stiles breaks the silence when he lies on his back and turns to Lydia.

“So, uh, do you think the Hales will mind that we took over their house?” Lydia proceeds to look back at him with a flat stare.

“We went back in time to save them. I think that’s the least of their concerns.”

Stiles scoffs, reaching out his hand to pat her foot before throwing his whole body off the bed and jumping to his feet. “Call the whole Scooby gang.” Stiles throws his phone at Lydia while he hops around his room trying to slip on his shoes while the redhead just arches an eyebrow at him. “Why?”

“I need a distraction _and_ we need food for the house. We’re running low on stocks.”

Lydia rolls her eyes at him but she complies anyway and shoots a text to the group chat before following Stiles downstairs.

“Do you think that the Hales are ready to know about us?” Lydia asks Stiles when they get out of the driveway. His knuckles turn white against the steering wheel and his breath hitches, feeling his alpha spark run rapidly through his chest all of a sudden.

It’s a weird thing, his alpha spark. It wasn’t like an ordinary werewolf alpha’s but being an entity of magic himself created the ability for him to defend Beacon Hills as a leader of a werewolf pack, despite not being an actual werewolf himself. His eyes glowed a bright red around the irises instead of the dark red that normal alphas have and the most he could do is lead his clique of wolf-y teenagers without pack disputes and emit enough magic to let outsiders know that Beacon Hills was a magically defended territory. 

The rogue alpha that came by in eight grade left Stiles in shambles- not enough to damage him but enough to remind him of what once was. He was unattainable for weeks and Lydia had to roughly coax him out of the trance that the sudden transfer of alpha power without a fully-developed spark left him in. Stiles, Lydia, and Deaton let the rogue alpha go with dignity, with her begging to end her life and passing her own magic to Stiles before she left with not so much as a warning. It was painful for him as a 14 year old, leaving scars on his body from the merging of alpha magic and his still-unstable spark. It was the last roadblock that finally sealed the magic of Beacon Hills to him. 

Stiles breathes heavily. He taps his fingers against the steering wheel at the stoplight before doing a complete one-eighty and taking a u-turn at the turn to the grocers.

“Stiles!” Lydia gapes at him as her eyebrows pinch in frustration and confusion.

“Tell the gang to meet at the grocery in 20. We’re making a quick pit stop at the station.”

 

“Hey, daddy-o!”

“Stiles, what in the ever-loving hell do you want now?” His dad rubs the bridge of his nose as Stiles strides towards his office, Lydia rolling her eyes behind him. Stiles grins before following his dad into his office and shutting the door behind Lydia. “Just a few curious questions,” Stiles answers. John Stilinski sets the folders in his hands on the table before raising an eyebrow at his son to go on in exasperation.

“Did you know the Hales are back?” Stiles starts and he gets his answer when his dad freezes and his eyebrows furrow.

“Since when?”

“Dunno. Long enough for me to not notice newbies in good ol’ Beacon Hills, I guess.”

John rubs at his temples as he sighs at his frustration of a son and shakes his head. “What do you expect me to do, Stiles?” he asks, taking a seat at his desk and taking a sip of his coffee. Stiles shrugs in response and Lydia throws her head back and groans, throwing herself over the arm of the couch to lie on her stomach, strawberry-blonde hair covering her face as she huffs. The sheriff hums in her direction, both in fondness and mutual annoyance directed at Stiles. Stiles, seeing this exchange of knowledge, harrumphs with his nose in the air and tugs Lydia up to dramatically stomp out of the station and pan their attentions back to their original plan of going to the grocery store.

.0o0o0.

Talia Hale does not know what to expect when her nose suddenly catches a whiff of magic and wolf around the aisle at the grocery store while her eldest children argue in front of the microwave-ready meals. She feels the tingle of alpha magic, closely similar to her alpha spark but not exactly, and her instincts tell her to fight, to defend her territory but she hasn’t exactly been the alpha of Beacon Hills for the past six years so she calms herself down and subtly turns her cart around the corner and leaves her children, her _adult_ children, to choose between ham and cheese Hot Pockets or pepperoni Pizza Rolls.

She thinks maybe, just maybe, that leaving the town in the hands of her emissary and a group of children was not such a good idea when her senses are flooded with the unmistakeable vibrations of magic and wolf coming from the bunch of teenagers fighting for ice cream buckets in front of her.

 

Stiles and Lydia should have expected the chaos bringing the whole pack to the grocery store brought. They’re all arguing whether or not they wanted Frosted Flakes or Raisin Bran and ‘no way in hell Stilinski that cereal has an average intake of about 450 calories per serving’. If it wasn’t for their bi-weekly shopping allowance of $150, they would’ve had at least three carts full of snacks racking up to more than half a thousand dollars. “Jackson, I told you Lydia and I are already making burritos tonight- _healthy_ burritos. We don’t need five boxes of microwavable versions of them,” Stiles sighed, letting Lydia man the cart while he shoved all of the packages back into the freezers.

“Yeah, for tonight. Not tomorrow afternoon during lacrosse or football reruns,” Jackson argues, pouting.

“We’ll make sure you’ll have plenty of leftovers. Erica- no! No, no, no, no, no, no- Isaac, we have strawberry cream sorbet at home, put that back.” Stiles spins himself around to grab the large gallon bucket of napoleon ice cream from Erica before pointing a finger at Isaac. 

Danny, Boyd, and Scott, thankfully, are in a different aisle.

Lydia takes her time choosing between Ben and Jerry’s flavors, completely ignoring Stiles and his dilemma with the three werewolves playing rock, paper, scissors for ice cream. 

“I feel like a single mom with six toddlers whose husband is a business man who hasn’t come home since the kids were less than a month old because he started fucking his secretary and only contacts the kids to pay child support every third Thursday of the month,” Stiles tells Lydia when he gives up playing referee for the three werewolves. Lydia raises an eyebrow at him and says nothing, humming in acknowledgment before reaching her hand in the freezer and pulling out a small container of strawberry cheesecake ice cream. “That’s… oddly specific.” She sets the package down in the cart and primly walks further down the aisle.

“Honest feeling.” Stiles shrugs, walking ahead of her and picking out other things. It’s when Scott runs up to him that he notices the near-brawl that Jackson and Erica are about to have in the middle of the store. 

“Teeth and claws back in, children. We’re out in public,” Stiles seethes, pinching both of their ears. Jackson, honest to god, _whines_ like a three year old being scolded and Erica just ducks her head and rubs her ear in shame when Stiles finally lets go. Scott snickers behind his palm just as Stiles faces him only to turn his attention towards the cart and notice that his three most trusted pack mates have indeed just filled the cart with at least ten Blue Bunny buckets of ice cream. 

Stiles lowers his gaze at Scott and turns to Lydia with the most tired expression he’s ever pulled when she walks up beside him and everyone giggles. Lydia tuts but doesn’t do so much as put two more containers of her Ben and Jerry’s. “No. Absolutely not.” Stiles opens the freezer and starts dumping bucket after bucket of ice cream back inside, despite not being in the right place, and everyone starts whining.

“But Stiiiiiiiiiles-” Erica starts.

“No, nuh-uh, nope. When I said a few ice cream buckets, I didn’t mean a few ice cream buckets _each_.”

That stirs everyone into an uproar and everyone else entering the ice cream aisle decides to turn back around. It’s when Stiles is about to crack open a bucket over Jackson’s head himself when he feels the tingle of “werewolf alpha” and a familiar voice that the whole pack pauses and stays quiet. 

The whole pack turns around and Stiles feels himself swallow his voice when it’s Talia Hale, with her new short ‘do and noticeable smile lines, that stands in front of him and his oh-so-amateur pack. 

She’s regal, in all sense of the word, with her pristine stance and head held high and sharp, predatory, but kind eyes. She’s a werewolf alpha and a _mother_ and Stiles feels the need to hold himself to her standards in that moment, but he doesn’t stand down. He knows a threat when he sees, or in the werewolf-y sense, _feels_ one and Talia Hale, six years older than he last saw her, is not one. 

He knows she’ll probably think of him as one, though, with the circumstances that arose in the time she was absent and he doesn’t blame her at all. 

With her coming back to a few high school teenage werewolves and a 16 year old human-mage-alpha paradox basically ruling as anarchist over them (Jackson’s words, not his), Stiles can understand the confusion and the possible conflict that the said happenstance can cause.

“Good afternoon, young spark,” is the first thing she says to the rag-tag group of teenagers and Jackson _faints._ Scott and Danny, who are standing beside him, barely bat an eye, or move a limb, to their fallen pack-mate. 

Lydia doesn’t even notice the ‘thud’ behind her.

“So I see you’ve assembled yourselves in my absence,” is the next thing she says and her eyes flitter over their blank-scared-awed-alarmed faces and Stiles feels himself shrink a little.

“Uhhhhh, hi Mrs. Hale,” Stiles greets, raising a hand in an awkward wave. She smiles warmly at him in response but he still feels a bit threatened and in return, the whole pack still feels a bit threatened and even a small tug in reassurance to the pack bonds does nothing to cure all their nerves. 

Laura and Jake Hale come running down the aisle behind their mother the next time Stiles blinks. 

Lydia pulls on his pinky with hers. The intangible gold string of telepathic magic between them tugs and Stiles knows that Lydia’s feeling a bit overwhelmed. 

Laura and Jake stand still behind their mother, grasping onto boxes of frozen, microwaveable food and Stiles thinks that they should be intimidated but the knowledge that Laura prefers Digiorno spinach and cheese pizza over Jake’s pepperoni Pizza Rolls erases all thoughts of ever thinking the Hales were the scariest people in Beacon Hills, impression-wise.

Stiles stumbles over his words as the Hales in front of him look over the pack, _his_ pack, with an emotion he can’t quite read.

There were just conversations he couldn’t even fathom ever having with them.

.0o0o0.

School starts again the next day.

Stiles wakes up to the sunlight streaming through the floor-to-ceiling second-story windows of the pack-house hitting against his closed eyelids.

Each square-inch of his skin was pressed against another’s and it didn’t bother him, besides the fact that it was uncomfortably warm.

“Guys,” he grumbles, voice cracking just a bit. He shakes his limbs gently as to wake the faces hugged against them and only elicits a whine from said faces. Lydia, bless her soul, sits up and checks her phone, tutting in response before unplugging the device and stretching. 

Her movement seems to start a chain reaction as one by one, everyone else gets up. First it’s Erica, who had her head against Lydia’s thigh, then Jackson, who had his leg strung across her stomach, then Scott, then Boyd, then Danny, and lastly Isaac, who was starfished across Boyd and Scott. They flock away to the bathrooms half-asleep, hands scratching at their backs and rubbing at their eyes. Besides the occasional yawn and scuffle of single-socked feet against wood, it’s silent. 

Stiles gets up last. 

He sits on the large pile of thick blankets they’ve stacked in place as a makeshift bed instead of an actual one in the middle of the second floor atrium. The windows in front of him gave a perfect view of the front yard and a beautiful view of the forest. He blinks his eyes open, taking in the beauty of the nature that faced him, feeling the magic of the sun’s warmth and the fresh air outside thrumming steadily through his veins. He breathes slowly, letting the scent of breakfast and winter and pack and _home_ hit every crevice and corner of his lungs, setting his heart in tandem with the slight thrum of the earth. 

He raises his arms, fingertips slightly dancing with the slight breeze of the air-conditioning, feeling his sore muscles stretch and his bones pop. 

It’s the smell of breakfast that brings him to his feet, the warm scent of pancake mix and fresh coffee wafting through the house. His toes wiggle against the cold wood, goosebumps rising against his arms and legs, as he tiptoes down the stairs.

He walks into the kitchen to see Lydia’s back against the island, hands wrapped around a steaming mug of coffee, her eyes trained on the large window above the sink, a straight view of the trees and their frosted branches. He assumes the same position as her and she wordlessly hands him her mug for him to take a sip. Stiles simply hums in thanks.

“So…” Lydia trails off. Stiles side-eyes her and takes another sip of the coffee in his hand, momentarily looking up as the sound of a shampoo bottle hitting the floor and a small ‘shit’ echoes through the ceiling.

“So…?”

“Sophomore year, huh,” Lydia says, more of a blunt statement than an open-ended question. Stiles scoffs, setting aside the mug and heading towards cabinets, pulling out plates and cups. Lydia turns to him, her hip against the counter and her arms crossed with an eyebrow raised. “Everything starts this year, it seems,” Stiles mutters, scooping the pancakes onto plates. Lydia lets this sit in silence for a bit before she follows his lead and preps the breakfast nook for when the others finish. 

Lydia turns her head towards the hallway and the ceiling for a moment before deeming it werewolf-hearing-free and fully stops in her actions and faces Stiles. “Everything’s already started. What I mean is that-” she sighs in frustration, having trouble finding her words. She taps her fingers against the marble and purses her lips before continuing. “You _know_ everything is going to turn to shit this year, right? The Hales are back, Peter’s ba- well, we’ll see how it goes with him- and _Scott_ doesn’t get bitten. He’s already a werewolf and so is everybody else who were supposed to be _later_ ,” she practically seethes through her teeth. Now it’s Stiles’ turn to sigh and he does so, defeated. He runs his hand down his face and with a tired smile, looks at Lydia who’s smiling back at him, a bit sadly. 

“Look, I- I know everything’s already gone hella sideways since we did the whole time loopsy-loopsy thing and this is the year everything went to shit last time BUT I know we changed things, big things, and those definitely gained us some big boy points so maybe, we should let this run its course and if we end up fucking up a lot, then we’ll just fix it before it can turn into us last time. Okay?” At this, Lydia inhales deeply, on the brink of tears, but she nods and Stiles runs his hands over her arms in comfort. “Let’s just try to get through today first and while the puppies will most likely be caught up in Lacrosse or complaining about readings over break, we can head over to the long-term facility and check up on good ol’ Pete.” Lydia nods again and this time, she seems more stable.

She and Stiles compose themselves quickly and break apart from their little pity party when they hear the stampeding of teenage werewolves and one human running down the steps and they all walk into the kitchen in varying degrees of readiness: Erica’s still-wet-from-the-shower hair was thrown haphazardly into a bun that wobbled on her head though her makeup was pristine and boldly done as always, Jackson and Isaac still had bed hair despite their clothes being free of wrinkles, Danny looked as put-together as always, Boyd was still wearing the shirt he wore to bed and paired with a pair of denim jeans but it looked like he didn’t really care much, and Scott, Stiles’ was pretty sure, had his pants backwards. Stiles and Lydia, who still haven’t gotten ready, took one look at their friends and simultaneously let out a heavy breath of indignation. 

“Don’t eat all the food,” Lydia demanded as she turned on her heel and dragged Stiles upstairs to change with her. The others did nothing but to grunt in response and grab their own share of the pancakes before settling into their own little bubbles of gossip. 

The master bedroom was where all of them kept most of their clothes and belongings seeing as it had the most closet space and despite the house itself having 5 bedrooms upstairs, not including the mediocrely-sized library, they were mostly empty and only contained the generic full beds and bedside tables. They all slept in a pile of blankets in the mostly vacant atrium anyways. 

Stiles sat on a little bench twiddling his fingers while Lydia thumbed through _his_ clothes, humming to herself. 

“Why can’t I dress myself, Lyds?” Stiles whined, flopping onto his back. Lydia tutted before throwing a pile of clothes on him.

“Because you need to make a first impression. Well, not really first but you get the point. The Hales are back and well, since I’d imagine they’d go to our oh so beloved school, I’d think that we have one chance to, yaknow, be a bit cocky and show off how awesome we are.” Lydia rocks back and forth on her feet with a smirk and Stiles hesitates, but he agrees. Until he notices what she threw at him.

“You are _not_ making me wear leather, Lydia, much less a leather jacket,” he tells her with a frown. She just scoffs at him. _The audacity._

“Of course you are. We all are.” She whips back around to him with her own selection- a deep red halter top and a leather skirt. 

“We’re going to look like a cult,” he answers in monotone with a flat stare.

“No, we’re not. We’re not _all_ going to be wearing leather jackets, doofus. Leather and blood red is our combination today. You can wear whatever the hell you want tomo- actually no. I get a final say in all your outfits until you can finally manage to dress yourself. Seriously Stiles, you’re attractive, you know that, you need to start showing that more.”

“Okay then. Fine. What about the others?”

“Erica’s wearing her leather pants and a tube top in a similar color to mine, because who cares about dress codes when we’re all actively slowly dying, you’re going to be wearing the leather jacket- which I got fitted suitably for you, you’re welcome, by the way- on top of the _red_ flannel hoodie I got you for Christmas, Isaac and Scott are both wearing their leather bombers- red and black respectively just to mix it up, Boyd’s wearing his leather Chelsea boots, Danny his vest, and Jackson’s wearing the loosely-fitted leather pants I forced him to get tailored.”

Stiles blinks at the strawberry-blonde in awe as she flutters in happiness. Seeing Lydia get so excited over something as simply as dressing her friends was a sight to behold and Stiles loves her _so_ much. He’s both grateful and saddened by her endearment and friendship for him- grateful for the opportunity, saddened from the lost opportunities they should’ve taken the first time around. He shakes his head to push aside his trauma for a moment and focuses on the task at hand. 

He says nothing but nod his head in approval and feel his mood lift a little more when Lydia claps her hands and squeals in excitement as she reaches for his red flannel hoodie. 

 

Stiles feels his anxiety dip into his magic as he visibly blanches at the the attention that’s on him as he steps out of the jeep with Erica, Lydia, Boyd, and Scott in tow, the other three just following right after when Jackson’s Porsche parks right next to Stiles. Maybe it’s the fact that he stills hangs out with the some of the most popular people in school (a lot of people actually thought this was a fleeting thing, despite this public friendship having been going on since basically halfway through the fifth grade) or maybe it’s the fact that it’s eerily creepy that they’re all basically matching. They look, in Stiles’ opinion, hot as fuck though. 

“Chin up, eyes straight, and big smirks, boys.” Stiles cranes his head as he hears the click-clack of Erica’s heels and then the smacking of her gum. She stands next to him, a big red-lipped grin on her face. 

Stiles couldn’t help but to fawn over her- even with her disorganized bun, she still looked sharp. She was beautiful and Stiles was a little bit in love with her. He couldn’t help but to see the scared, epileptic little girl Stiles first met at the hospital when he and Lydia were still getting used to their little bodies. But then there was the scared 16 year old Stiles knew from before- the naive, clueless girl Derek thought was worthy of being a werewolf, the frightened girl who let her epilepsy take over her life, the Catwoman to Stiles’ Batman, the girl who Stiles’ saw fight until the fires engulfed her. _This_ Erica standing right next to him, a completely different person than she would have been, gave Stiles hope for this future, the one he’ll die fighting for.

The blonde in question catches his stare and blows him a kiss and a wink and Stiles winks back before turning back to the problem at hand.

The pack, _his pack_ , send each other smirks like the douchebags they are and start walking inside. Stiles tugs on the pack bonds just for good measure and the others turn back to him, chuckling to themselves in happiness. They’re ecstatic, enlivened, and ready to wreak havoc on the halls of Beacon Hills High. 

Lydia grasps Stiles’ hand and squeezes it in reassurance and Stiles’ knows they’ll be alright. Whatever Beacon Hills throws at them, he knows they’ll get through it together.

.0o0o0.

Cora Hale huffs out a frustrated breath, leaning against the locker beside her cousin’s. Celeste just chuckles to herself lowly as she grabs some of her books from her locker. 

“The day’s barely started, little cousin. Stop being grumpy or else you’ll end up looking like Derek,” Celeste states eyeing Cora with a sly smile. Cora glares at her and blows a fallen strand of hair out of her face.

“He’s my brother. I already look like him.” This earns a scoff from the older girl. “And I know today’s our first day here but it’s all these jocks that keep calling at me that really ticks me off.” Cora lets out a low growl as she finishes, setting her eyes dead on a passing student and his lackeys who whistles at her. Celeste frowns in response, following Cora’s eye before turning back to her. Putting a hand on her younger cousin’s arm, she opens her mouth to say something before Cora quickly whips her head around, hitting Celeste in the face with her dark hair. 

Celeste quirks an eyebrow up in curiosity when she looks the same way as Cora, spotting Stiles and the others walk in, a bit intimidating with their coordinated colors and leather. 

Cora snarls at the back of her throat and Celeste can do nothing but to roll her eyes at the naturally angry nature of her little cousin. 

“Weres,” Cora simply states, an edge to her voice. Celeste’s eyes widen at this. _It can’t be_ , Celeste thinks but she sees the closeness of Stiles and his friends, sees the subtle touches they give each other with jabs on the arm or shoulder bumps, sees the soft looks they send each other despite their joking manners, and she knows that they were a lot like her family, a lot like pack. 

She manages to catch Stiles’ eye as he and his strawberry-blonde friend break apart from the others to tend to their lockers on the other side of the hall, and he sends her a quick smile, full of mischief and something else she can’t quite place.

“Who are _they?_ ” Cora asks, flexing her fingers against the books she has hugged against her chest. Celeste tunes her out for a moment, opting to follow Stiles and his friend’s- girlfriend’s?- movements as they leave their post and meet up with another of their friends farther down the hall.

“Stiles and his pack.” Celeste grins brightly, whipping back around to face Cora, who looks confused.

“What the hell is a Stiles? And what in the _fuck_ do you mean _pack?”_ Cora nearly shouts. The older girl shakes her head in response and continues to land her sights on the young spark she met so long ago and his ragtag clique.

“Guess we’ll find out soon enough.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this update took nearly a year but life got in the way and this fall semester of school kicked my ass but 2018's looking pretty bright for this fic so there will definitely be more updates. Thank you all for patiently waiting. I love all of you!
> 
> *edited note: this is more background info but I've been getting comments and I thought I'd explain the confusion since this wasn't really necessary for the plot even though the next few chapters explains most of it, but the reason Cora and Derek took a bit to remember Stiles despite the connections when they were younger is because, well simply put, when you're away for 6 six years after a traumatic event, you'd think to hope to forget a lot of things tied to said event. And plus, Stiles and the others went through puberty and "glo'd up" since Derek and Cora last saw them so they didn't really recognize them at first, the same way you wouldn't really remember someone from kindergarten on the spot, if you were for example in like the 5th grade, because they've changed so much based on appearances. Celeste was quick to remember Stiles because she was also quick to realize who he was (just basing this on real life experience, it might take a while for some people to recognize familiar faces/names while maybe others don't.) I hope this clears up a bit of the confusion!*


End file.
